You, Me and the Bourgeoisie
by orchidvines
Summary: Will Darcy had absolutely everything. Until the accident. In a glimpse of what could have been, he wakes up beside Lizzy Bennet, the artist he was supposed to dump ten years ago. The fork in his path. Still, what the hell happened to his Armani suits?
1. Prologue

**You, Me & the Bourgeoisie**  
_Prologue_

There had been a car crash.

Will Darcy was pretty damn sure of that. The splintered windshield, the crunch of bones, the warm trickling down his face. Sirens were wailing, but they were garbled and distant. Kind of like he had just been plunged underwater. Everything real, everything _familiar_, was just above the surface.

He was consumed and bombarded with thoughts. Four tended to repeat themselves:

#1: _Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

#2: _I am _way_ too pretty to die._

#3: _I'm getting married this fall, for God's sake._

#4: _At least this gets me out of that board meeting._

It's funny. You expect to wake up to the IV chords, the blur of loved ones, the sharp jolt of paddles. Maybe even the smell of your own urine or excruciating pain. Will was seated upright when he came to. Not only that, he was smack dab in the middle of a dainty kitchen. Still in his pressed suit. With a cup of coffee between his hands.

"Maybe this is what comes after," Will pondered, taking a slow sip. He closed his eyes. It was rich. Over the rim of the coffee cup, he looked around him. Pink wallpaper. Gauzy curtains. Floral china sets. Will's face screwed up with disgust. _What an old cat lady kitchen_.

He froze.

Did that mean God was an old cat lady?

"Well, this sucks."

"You don't like the coffee?"

Will Darcy jumped so violently from his chair that he nearly spilled piping hot espresso down his slacks. He steadied himself at the last moment and stared straight ahead at the source of the voice, his eyes so wide that they threatened to pop out of his face.

A young girl smiled patiently back at him. He raised his eyebrows. God, she had to be no older than eighteen. Nineteen at most. _Do I even _know_ any teenagers?_

"You okay, pal?" she asked pleasantly.

"Am _I_ okay?" Will gaped.

"Yeah," she crossed her arms across her chest. "Well, you know. Car accident and all. That was my bad. You look good though. Your body, not so much."

"_You_ did this?" he sputtered.

"Sorry," she shrugged.

And then Will's eyes widened, "Am I really dead?"

The girl giggled. Will's mouth fell open. She had just fucking _giggled_.

She smiled and raised her chin, inhaling deeply.

He blinked. _What the hell?_

"Smell that?" she clapped. "Cookies are ready."

"Are you fucking _serious_?" he shouted.

"White chocolate chip, right?" she asked, hiking her sleeves. He stared incredulously as she pulled out a tray from the open oven. "I try to make my guests comfortable."

"Who _are_ you?"

The girl looked over her shoulder and broke out into a wide smile. "I'm Jules. And no, Will, you're not dead."

"I'm not?" he asked suspiciously.

"No," Jules laughed, setting the hot tray down at the kitchen table. "Sit, and I'll explain." A pause. "For God's sake, sit your bony ass _down_. Take a cookie."

So he took one and she stared on, delighted. "You want milk?"

"No, I don't want any damn milk."

"Rough day?"

He stared at her blankly. "Will you just tell me where the hell I am?"

Jules sighed and tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind an ear. "Think of it as a temporary lapse of living."

"So it's death."

Jules smirked, "That sounds pretty permanent, yeah?" She pulled out a chair and took a seat, taking a long look at him. He was surprised by her stare. She was one of those rare individuals with old eyes in a young face, deep and insightful. He scowled. God, this experience was making him fruity. Will shook his head.

"I want you to tell me what you did today, Will."

Will laughed. "You're serious."

"It's pretty legit, yep."

He sighed, splitting a cookie in half. "God, I don't know. Woke up at six. Ran for an hour. Picked out a florist with Carrie. Bitched to Bingley about the Nike shoot," he took a bite and thought some more. "Then I fired Phil Mercer. Went to the Oliver-Weinstock promo luncheon. Did some bills. Called Carrie again. Got heckled by Aunt Catherine. Oh, and then I left. And got hit by a _fucking car_." Will paused bitterly. "Is there a complaint department or a suggestion box here?"

Jules grinned, "You actually want a suggestion box."

"Kind of."

"Adorable," Jules scoffed. "Focus. Who did you run into today for the first time in ten years?"

Will's mouth opened and some crumbs trickled out.

Jules winced, "Attractive."

"Why do you care?" he asked warily. "What does she have to with anything?"

"She has to do with _everything_," laughed Jules, brushing some errant crumbs from the table. "You're pretty dense, aren'tchya?"

Will stared at her blankly, which didn't really help his situation.

"I'll be straight with you, buddy," Jules clicked her tongue. "I'm here to offer you a second chance at something. But I figured having you for coffee and cookies would be a good precursor before I just shove you in. Maybe it'll dull the shock."

"Shove me in _where_?"

"Your new life, silly."

"I _have_ a life," Will explained. His head was beginning to pound. "A good, _successful_ life. I'm about two months from a promotion, I'm _engaged_, I just bought my first penthouse apartment—"

"You're also an asshole," Jules shrugged. "Don't look at me like that, and close your mouth. Eat your damn cookie."

He obeyed. He wasn't sure why, he just _did_. It was strange. Mechanical, even.

"You know," Jules sighed. "You'd think people would be grateful, but _no_. Second chances don't come everyday. Especially to people like you. And let's face it, you fucked up really badly. You were supposed to take one road. It was _destiny_."

"You can't be talking about Elizabeth," Will said quietly. "You can't."

Jules leaned closer and smiled. "Haven't you ever wondered what your life would have been like if you hadn't gotten on that flight? If you just spent a _minute_ longer in that terminal? Come on. You threw it all away."

"It was ten _years_ ago."

"You think about it all the time."

"This is fucking in_sane_."

Jules leaned back and folded her hands. She was all happy patience. "I'll just give you a glance. Let you get your feet wet. When it's time to come back, you will. You can thank me later." She stood up suddenly.

"_What_?" Will balked. "This is ridiculous! This doesn't make any _sense_—"

He swallowed his words. Suddenly, he had the sensation of being pulled back, slowly and quickly at the same time. The cat lady kitchen shrunk before him and Jules, smiling and calm, waved back at him. And then it all went black.

* * *

**Author's Note:** In the words of Monty Python: "And now for something completely different". Man, I had this story in the works since the end of my first; I've just been waiting. It definitely springboards off of the movie _The Family Man_ (2000), so it's P&P with quite a twist. I'll probably get really into it this summer – _Red Light_ will still be updated, so Emma fans shouldn't worry.

I'm really excited with this concept and I hope you enjoy! :)


	2. Feel the Illinoise

**Two**_: Feel the Illinoise  
_

(One Week Earlier)

If anybody was to blame, it was Charles Bingley.

Charles friggin' Bingley. With his wide smile and his easy manners and his dumb curly blond hair and that wasted, accumulating trust fund. As a business associate, Will _despised_ him. As a best friend, he was indispensable. And as an all around fan of women, Charlie had gone and gotten himself involved with the nurturer among nurturers, Jane Bennet.

The name hadn't really clicked in Will's mind that Monday. They were having lunch at Panera Bread after a huge merger with Nike Women's Division – no thanks to Charlie, who had sat dreamily during the meeting, staring off at the large Margaret Bourke-White stills hanging on the wall. No, the merger had been Will's baby entirely. The ad campaign with the solitary, creatively independent woman had been his brainchild and _his_ to take credit for. He could practically track the scent of a promotion on the horizon. Jay Reynolds was _this_ close to pulling him up the ranks.

Charlie, on the other hand, was consumed with thoughts of the Golden Girl. Not Bea Arthur. _This_ Golden Girl was Dr. Jane Bennet, some adorably sweet tempered woman he had met at an AIDS benefit a month ago in Chicago. She was with Doctors without Borders. His family had been a longtime sponsor. And when they met, why, even the angels in heaven thought it sickeningly sweet. Like scarfing down craploads of icing in too little time. Charlie worshiped the ground she walked on.

"She's in town this week, Will," he beamed, shuffling around his Greek salad without bothering to take a bite. "You _have_ to meet her."

Will looked up and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "What, girlfriend #384? That's cute. Maybe she'll stick around long enough for Thanksgiving this time."

His friend glowered. "Sometimes I wish you'd choke on your sandwich."

"I'm too coordinated for asphyxiation, Charlie." Will took a bite out of his turkey sub.

"I'm serious about this girl. Jane could very well be the one."

"Yeah," Will muttered, checking his Blackberry. "The one you'll never _see_. Isn't she leaving to Africa for another six months?"

"Only three this time," corrected Charlie.

"Lucky you."

But Charlie couldn't be beaten down. He even smiled while eating, which, quite frankly, got a little creepy. "Still, I'll stay in touch with her while she's gone. And her younger sister's flying out to Uganda next month to visit," he looked down, thinking out loud. "Maybe I can ask Lizzy to split airfare."

"Who?" Will asked distractedly, thumbing through his messages. _Carrie, Carrie, George, Jay, Jay, Carrie, Catherine, Charlie. Carrie again. _He grimaced. _Maybe texting should be banned_.

Charlie shrugged, "Lizzy Bennet, her sister. I've only met her a couple of times. Actually, I borrowed a record from her. Her dad passed on a pretty incredible collection. She works with designing album covers. I forget which label. Parlophone, I think. Or is it Parasol? Whatever."

Normally, Will would've selectively tuned out Charlie's frequent rambling. Because well, Charlie had a habit of talking himself in circles. But the name struck him deep, coiled around his mind and wouldn't let go. He looked up. "Lizzy Bennet," Will repeated slowly.

"Yep."

"_Elizabeth _Bennet?"

"…Yeah, I guess."

He looked down at the table. _No. What are the chances?_ "What does she look like?"

Charlie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm _not _setting you up. You're engaged. Besides, she has a boyfriend."

"Good for her," Will chuckled. He pinched the bridge of his nose, strangely amused. "No, Charlie. Lizzy Bennet was my girlfriend in college."

"Bullshit," Charlie laughed. "You never settled down during grad school."

"_Under_grad, smartass."

Charlie's eyebrows rose. "_Oh_. Oh, wow. You _committed_?"

"Once upon a time," Will smirked. He leaned back and unscrewed the cap of his iced tea. "Shocker, I know."

"Jesus," whistled Charlie. "You sure it's the same girl?"

"I remember a sister named Jane," Will nodded, looking off in thought. "And Lizzy was an Art History major at Muhlenberg. She was working at galleries part time. I don't think she ever left Philadelphia. It has to be her. I'm pretty damn sure of it."

"So what, you dumped her?"

"It was more complicated that," Will sat up. "No, I didn't really _dump _her. I mean, I loved her. We were together for three years. But Junior year I got accepted to Keefe's internship program, remember? That was in Geneva. A year after that, he led me to Bob. I finished school. Worked a couple years at Sanford, travelled up the chains until I met Reynolds and we booked that first deal with AT&T—"

"Where you became the brilliant, overpaid executive, we know," Charlie rolled his eyes. "Funny how every topic leads to your astonishing career. So what happened to Lizzy?"

Will shrugged, "I don't know. We said goodbye at the airport. I promised to be back in a year."

"But you didn't come back to Philadelphia until Jay hired you," Charlie said thoughtfully. "You worked in Seattle for five years after Switzerland. And then New York. And _then _Philly."

"That's the gist of it."

"You never came back to her," he said blankly.

Will shrugged noncommittally. "Life goes on, Charlie."

"But you loved her."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "I did. You know, she even begged me to stay. We had been talking about this internship for half a year at least, and at the last moment she wants me to stay and forget about it. I still don't know why. Something had changed, she just seemed so _desperate_. And I thought it was so unfair. My bags were checked in and I had the boarding pass in my hand and everything was set up. I was like, _Are you shitting me?_ It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. A kid like me, up in Geneva? Come on."

Charlie sighed. "That's pretty bleak."

"I know, right? She was holding me back."

"No, what _you _did," laughed Charlie incredulously. "The girl loved you and you didn't even have the decency to come back to her."

"If I came back to her, I would never be in the position I am in today. Things happen for a reason. I would _never _be this successful. For God's sake, I wouldn't even be engaged to your own _sister_," Will snorted. "Should I tell Carrie you're rooting on another woman?"

"Leave my sister out of this," Charlie grimaced. "I already find it weird that we're going to be brothers. But seriously, Will. Maybe it would do you some good to see Elizabeth. Let bygones be bygones. Clear some things out of the way."

"What's there to clear? It hasn't bothered me all this time. And it's been ten years at _least_."

"God, you're cold," laughed Charlie. "Only you, man. Heart of stone."

"Got to be thick skinned, Bingley," Will smiled. A pause. "You're paying for my lunch, right?"

* * *

The sleek and shiny offices of the Deerbourne building were practically a fifteen minute powerwalk from Walnut Street. Not that Will Darcy would be caught dead powerwalking. Who has the luxury to be hustled in a $900 suit? He took a cab, because his threads practically demanded it. Slipping out two crisp bills from his money clip, he paid his fare and stepped out onto the curb.

A bike suddenly whirled past and nearly clipped him. He lurched back at the last minute, and the girl looked back apologetically, her long blonde ponytail flaring behind her like a ribbon. She smiled serenely and Will suppressed the chill that ran down his spine. _That was bizarre_. He walked up the path and a passing employee smiled; Will scanned in his ID card and disappeared inside.

At the reception desk of the thirteenth floor, Anna Bourgh was racked with nervous butterflies just as soon as the elevator doors chimed open. "Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy!"

"Same to you, Anna," Will smiled pleasantly, turning around the corner. He paused momentarily. "Any messages?"

"Greg Bernhardt wants to move the meeting to three o'clock. Phil Mercer called. Oh, and your fiancee's waiting for you in your office." At this last anecdote, Anna's smile faltered for a second. She was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her boss. And he hadn't even noticed her new haircut. Or her last name.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome!"

Will walked through the maze of cubicles, across the hall, and to the East Wing. At the sound of his name, he spun around. Jay Reynolds had his head poked out from his office door. "I thought that was you. Long lunch break, Darcy."

"Bingley needed a shoulder to cry on, sir," Will grinned.

Jay laughed and walked out. "Of course he did. You up to speed with the Nike shoot?"

"Completely, Jay."

"Oh, and," his boss cleared his throat, hooking his thumbs through the belt hoops of his trousers, "what's the deal with Mercer? Victoria showed me his run through. He missed the entire point of it. It's a disaster."

"You _saw _that?" Will grimaced. "Damn, I at least hoped to have them scrapped by now. I've already gotten Hughes and Lopacki redesigning the third. I'll email you an attachment -- it's so much better, there aren't even enough words to describe it."

Jay grinned, "You're the only one I can count on, Will. And Mercer?"

"Consider him sacked."

Reynolds looked uncomfortable for a moment. "But his family situation..."

"With all due respect, Jay," Will sighed, "this is his third error in two months. We work with _Nike_, for Chrissake. You were the one who emphasized the competence of the staff, were you not? We're not responsible for his personal shortcomings."

Jay sighed and removed his glasses, polishing them with his cuff. "You're right."

"I know."

He smiled solemnly, "Well, I trust your judgment. Do what you have to do."

"Of course," Will nodded. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some paperwork to handle in my office."

"Be my guest, son."

"Thank you, sir," he smiled.

Will Darcy's office, of course, had an absolutely fantastic view of City Hall. Carrie Bingley just happened to be temporarily obscuring it. She sat on his desk with her legs crossed, her reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. He stopped in the doorway. Sometimes she was just _too _attractive. Not really beautiful. Nor pretty. Just _striking_. Long and slender and completely modelesque. Basically the type of woman to spark eating disorders among thirteen year old girls across America. She looked up when Will shut the door.

"You're late," she set aside a folded copy of _Newsweek_.

"Carrie," Will laughed, loosening his tie.

"What took you?"

"I was having lunch with Charlie," he explained. "Any complaints can be forwarded to your brother."

Carrie smiled, "I can sense a pattern here. It's not going to work, you know."

"Really?" Will murmured, leaning down to kiss her. "That sucks."

She pulled away with a short laugh. "Stop trying to distract me. We're picking out the cake today, remember?"

Will groaned, "That's _today_? I have a meeting in two hours."

"Tough shit," Carrie smirked. She withdrew a compact mirror from her Coach purse, touching up her eyeliner. "_I_ set aside time to be here."

"Right. You're incredibly busy," Will concealed a smile.

Carrie rolled her eyes. Not that she really had a career. Having Daddy's money at your fingertips certainly works that way. She was more like a (semi)heiress/pilates instructor/socialite/fashionista, if such could be accredited as a job. They had been going out for a year. Marriage had never been in the equation, until one day, during an extremely early strike of midlife crisis, Will had reassessed his sitation and thought, "What the fuck am I doing? I'm thirty one. I should be married." Hence, the ever impulsive proposal. After all, they fit together. And Will thought, if not now, when? He would probably forget. Everything else was a backdrop to his career.

Will powered on his Macbook and sighed, drumming his fingers against his desk. "Can't you get Vittorio to show us the samples some other time?"

"We've already rescheduled _twice_, Will."

"Third time's the charm," he insisted. "Just give me a few more days to settle the fine print of this merger. Saturday, I'm all yours."

Carrie sighed and slid off of his desk. "Promise?"

"Of course."

She nodded and closed her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. "In that case, I'm going to go visit Louisa. I'll see you tonight." She bent down to kiss him, smiling. "If you still remember our new address, that is."

"At least I remember our doorman's name," he murmured, touching her hair briefly. "Unlike some people."

She frowned, "It's Larry, right?"

"_Gary_," Will laughed. "You're so clueless."

"Whatever," Carrie smirked. "I'll call you."

"Okay," he held the door open for her as she left, watching her disappear down the hall.

Will sighed and took a seat back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes. For some reason, he couldn't get his mind off Elizabeth Bennet. The conversation with Charlie had made him somewhat nostalgic.

God, _Lizzy_? He had never really forgotten her. How could he forget that feisty green eyed artist with the riotous curls and the killer right hook? He remembered the first time he met her, stranded out in the apartment hallway in nothing more than a towel, pounding her fists savagely against her door. She had been locked out by her roommate just after showering, and her hair was practically dripping in rivulets. Man, who had been her freshman roommate? _Something _Lucas. Sarah. Chiara. Kara. Did it even matter?

He remembered lending her a shirt that morning as they walked together to maintenance to get a spare key. He remembered how self conscious and flustered she had been, blushing and laughing and cracking jokes at herself, the hem of his collared shirt practically brushing against her knees. She was adorable and sharp witted and completely enchanting. A week later, he asked her out in their Philosophy through Media class. Three years later, Will caught himself daydreaming about _marrying _Elizabeth Bennet.

Will's eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling. Deep down, he must have realized that Charlie's connection would have them brushing by each other at some point. He just didn't really believe it yet. Instead, Will opened his browser and checked his email, thinking that some things were better off left in the past.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Jeebus, guys. You're officially the best. I can totally commence with some plot goodness in the third chapter now (technically, the second half of it). Plus, I start work Monday and I wanted to get this little background slice out of the way beforehand. Because, you know, I can't _wait _for ten hour work days in an office building for two months. But yeah. Ya'll are great. And I'm not Southern. But I pretty much love you. Next chapter is much more of a Lizzy chapter. So keep your eyes open. :)


	3. Cars and Planes

**Three**: _Cars and Planes_

In the last thirty years of her life, Elizabeth Bennet had developed about three key uses for her incredibly long, tangled mass of curls.

Will Darcy had been acquainted with one more than the others: The Great Curtain. That wall of hair she casually flipped over one shoulder to avoid being looked at, sought after or bothered. Commonly present when writing her Art History thesis, avoiding that bar leech, and (of course) their third date when Will had accidentally spilled Fettuccine Alfredo all over her white blouse. And it was present now.

Standing outside the dimly lit restaurant, nose pressed against the glass, Darcy momentarily forgot that his creeping was bordering on stalking. Charlie had insisted and he had arrived for a reason. _Just come for drinks_, Bingley had suggested. _Meet my girl before she leaves on Monday_. Will had been about to mock him for the dated, _Forrest Gump_ like use of 'my girl', but then Charlie had played the Best Friend card. He had explained how much he valued his opinion, how much he himself dug Jane, and how much of a douchebag Will would be if he bailed.

So here he was. And there they were. Four tables, a live band, and a bar's length away from the entrance. Charlie looked like the quintessential burned out employee on a Friday night. His tie had been scrapped and his pinstriped button up was rolled neatly to the elbows. Jane, of course, was prettier than Will remembered. _More womanly_, he decided, what with her auburn gold hair wrapped in a loose bun and her face still classically beautiful. She was smiling. Of course she was smiling. He was about 90% sure that her face wasn't capable of contorting into any other expression.

And then to her right…

A part of Will had probably known that her sister would be there. But he hadn't let that part guide his feet from the Deerbourne building that Friday. He hadn't let that part start the ignition of his BMW and lead him to the corner of "Oh Fuck" and "Get Me Out of Here". No, it was his irrational side that rooted him to the spot now, staring at the girl he had left stranded in an airport terminal ten years ago.

Will saw The Curtain first and he couldn't help the smile that pulled at his mouth. Elizabeth was sitting cross legged at the bar, her shoulders shaking with laughter, her face obscured. Her hair was so dark that it reflected the dim pendant lights and shone. And gone were the ripped jeans and paint splattered flannel. She wore a fitted black dress and heels, and his eyes traced the shape of her small figure, remembering more than he wanted to. He suddenly wanted to see her eyes. But he beat the thought to the back of his mind and buried it beneath logic.

"Okay," Will sighed, stepping away from the glass. "You came, you saw. _Leave_. Really, you have no place here."

He looked towards the meter. It was a ridiculous intersection of his past and his present, and he felt like he was plucked down in the middle of oncoming traffic. Even Will's chest felt a little constricted. His shoulders dropped and he looked up at the sky. The sun was dipping low, sending ripples of dull pinks and oranges dispersing into the clouds. He closed his eyes. _I don't belong here. I belong home_. _With my fiancée_. Will fingered the car keys in his pocket.

And without a break in his step, he stepped off of the asphalt and slid into his car. He gunned the engine and pulled away from the curb like a man of purpose.

Will was also a man of delayed reactions. There was a swerve of a bicycle, a flash of blonde hair (and an emphatic _Oh shit!_) before Darcy turned violently and smashed into another car.

* * *

His head was throbbing.

And he just been dreaming of some grinning, Oracle like blonde teenager bent on warping his life for some alternate plane of existence. _Seriously, who _does _that?_ It was more like a nightmare than an actual dream. Probably because of the pain medication, right?

Because he was most likely in the Emergency Room, on a stretcher with a cluster of concerned friends and family looming over him. Okay well, maybe only Charles. But it was debatable. They had a nice wine selection at that Center City restaurant; maybe Bingley wouldn't have even bothered to look outside. _God, that's not depressing or anything_…

Will felt himself drawing near consciousness.

And consciousness was a bed that didn't reek of that sterile starched hospital clean. He looked upwards toward the ceiling. Pale green, the exact shade of his bedroom walls in the penthouse. A sigh of relief rolled through Will's body. He pressed his hands against his face, searching for any signs of stitches, bruising or cracked flesh. All fine. Stubbly but fine. _Was it all a dream, then?_ He perched himself up on his elbows. _Even the car crash?_

Before Will could congratulate himself for cheating a pseudo death, he suddenly became aware of the warm arm wrapped snugly around his waist. His eyebrows shot up. Will only saw the top of a woman's head, her thick dark hair brushing against his stomach. She slept in an old gray t-shirt; _his _old gray college t-shirt. And then Will saw one of her legs, the curve of a pale calf, intertwined with his. His mouth fell open. All Darcy could think was: _Did I go drinking last night?_ Followed by: _Carrie's going to skewer me_.

Gently, he tried to squirm out from underneath the girl.

Her warm breath fanned out across his abdomen. "_Stop_," she mumbled. "It's too early, Will." Her arm tightened.

"I uh, I have to go."

"Mm," the girl murmured. "Sammy's not even crying."

Will looked up and nearly jolted. He was _not _in his bedroom. _Jesus Christ_. It was abominably small. The slipshod dresser in front of him was littered with children's clothing. He spied a pacifier and a bib that looked suspiciously unclean, right next to carelessly thrown flannel shirts. He swallowed hard and looked at the bedside table. An ancient alarm clock and a picture frame that boasted a laughing family: the blurred shape of a woman, her husband, and two small boys. Then a worn leather wallet that wasn't his, and a shitty watch that fell several notches below his own Omega.

With a splitting headache, Will looked to the small hand curled next to his. He gaped at the gold wedding band on her fourth finger for what must have been a full minute. _Dear Lord. I slept with a _married_ woman?__  
_

The door suddenly burst open and a little boy came rocketing into the room. The terror screamed with excitement and hopped onto the bed and (what must have been ) his mother rolled onto her back. Will clutched the covers, absolutely bewildered to the point of nausea.

"Hi, baby." The woman cupped the small boy's chin. "Is your brother up yet?"

The boy shook his head, "Sammy wet the bed."

"Wonderful. Ask Daddy to change the sheets."

The boy dropped to his knees and started delivering punches to Will's shoulder, "Daddy, Daddy, _Dad!_ Change the sheets. Or I'll bite you."

Will leaped out of bed so quickly that he slammed into the wall and knocked over an ironing board.

"Liam, we said no biting," warned the woman. She lifted up his shirt and blew on his belly, and Liam erupted in giggles, shrieking with laughter.

And then the mother turned, and Will caught full sight of her face. The sleepy green eyes, the freckles, the cropped mop of curls. His jaw dropped again. "_Lizzy_?"

Elizabeth Bennet ran a hand through her hair blearily and stared up at him. His t-shirt dwarfed her and exposed the smooth plane of her collarbone, and she righted it without a second thought. Her hair was riotous and shorter, stopping just at her shoulders. Probably a more manageable length for an active mother who could skip two days worth of washes.

"Honey, change Sam's sheets. _Please_," those familiar eyes glanced at him imploringly. "And don't give me that look, Will. You want to know how many times_ I've_ changed his sheets in the past week? It's your fault for buying Huggies – they leak."

"_What_?" Will asked breathlessly. He could hear the blood pounding in his own ears.

Lizzy rolled her eyes, "Fine, _I'll_ do it. Christ. You make the coffee."

_What the hell is happening to me?_

Darcy swallowed sharply, turned on his heel and fled the room.


	4. It's Not Even Christmas

**Four**: _It's Not Even Christmas_

Darcy raced down the stairs, skipped the last two steps and whirled around the foyer. _Everything_ around him epitomized a life he didn't have. The stack of bills on the coffee table of the living room, the pair of child's rain boots at the foot of the stairs, the myriad of family portraits on the wall. He saw his own face stare back at him, replicated again and again and _again_. Smiling, laughing, and perfectly at ease in this cookie cutter lifestyle.

"I'm dreaming," he raked a hand through his hair. The glint of gold caught his eye and he thrust his palm away from his face. A wedding band on his finger. _I'm married. We're married. Why the _hell_ are we married?_ Will winced. Aspirin would have been ideal.

He sank down and sat on the last step; his head was cradled in his hands. _Think_.

_I need a car._  
_I need to call Charlie._  
_I need to decide whether I am currently in a coma, clinically insane or the nation's most gullible victim of Ashton Kutcher's reality show shenanigans._  
…_Unlikely._

Darcy collected enough calm to snatch a pair of keys from the kitchen key rack and bolt out the front door. He sprinted through a weed encrusted path that led to the driveway and narrowly avoided tripping over an abandoned tricycle and a lawn gnome. Then he scanned.

_No BMW_. He squinted at the keys he had taken. "I drive a Chrysler Town & Country. I'll go shoot myself now." The wine colored minivan seemed to patronize him, parked snugly beside the hydrangea bushes just by the garage. They also had a silver Honda Accord. _Perfect._

"Hey, Will?"

"_What_?" he nearly screeched, turning on his heels.

A man in his early thirties gaped at him from the neighboring lawn. He had sandy colored hair, inquisitive brown eyes and three grocery bags in his hands. "You all right?"

Will closed his mouth. What a loaded question.

"Yes," he answered meekly.

"Lizzy and the kids, too?"

Darcy held up his hand shakily. "I'm _married_."

The man frowned. "Yeah. That's kind of how it works in the 'burbs."

"The 'burbs," Will echoed, glancing about. Identical houses surrounded him, each with different colored doors and shingles. What individuality. "I live in the suburbs."

"Shit, I miss the city," his supposed neighbor sighed.

"City?"

"New York," he laughed. "A_durr_. You Philadelphians think you're such hot shit. Remind me never to watch a Mets game with you ever again, okay?"

"I hate baseball," Will mumbled distractedly. _The suburbs_?

"Right," nodded the neighbor. "And I'm Barbara Walters."

Darcy dragged his hands through his hair. "Where _am_ I?" he moaned.

"Well," the man started, collecting mail from his mailbox, "calling it the seventh circle of hell would imply that I'm ungrateful for my beautiful, blossoming family and steady income from a thankless job. So for today, we'll call it Pennington, New Jersey. But suggestions will be taken later."

Will had only caught a fraction of his words. "I live in _Jersey_?"

"Um, yeah." He shuffled his mail and glanced up. Will craned his neck to read one of the envelopes. _Richard Fitzwilliam_.

"You're Richard."

Richard arched an eyebrow. "You okay, Will? Rough morning?"

Darcy looked fit enough to faint. "I have to go," he said breathlessly. "I need to talk to Charlie. Or Carrie. Or even Georgie."

"I'm going to pretend that I know who those people are," Richard promised. "In the meantime, you should probably go put on some pants. Or a shirt. Or something. There are children in this neighborhood."

Will looked down. He was right. Gathering up the pieces of the last 24 hours would not be suitable while bare chested and in boxers. He closed his eyes and darted back into the house.

He moved at lightning speed, scanning and snatching what seemed valuable. A sweatshirt was taken, along with worn out Doc Martens and a flip phone by the key rack. Elizabeth suddenly called his name just as he reached the door on his way out; Will jerked around violently.

"Jesus, you're jumpy." Lizzy snorted. She was halfway down the stairs, peering out past the railing. "No more coffee for _you_. You going out?"

"Yes." His throat was dry. "No. Yes."

"Wherever it is, pick up bagels on the way?" She batted her eyelashes insincerely. "I'll be your best friend. We have no food for breakfast because I'm a terrible mother."

"…Okay." His hands were shaking.

"Don't forget this." Lizzy tossed his wallet over the banister. He caught it with a lunge. "And _this_." A ball of fabric landed at his feet. Will unfolded a pair of jeans.

"Pants are always preferable in public." She smiled and disappeared back upstairs.

He gaped_. This is weird. _

* * *

Will Darcy took the godforsaken minivan across the turnpike, through merging exits, into Newtown, through Northeast Philadelphia and (three coffees later) into Center City. Traffic was a blur. His mind was battered by thoughts. Images flew by and connected into puzzle pieces that made no sense. Vaguely, he had the sensation of vertigo.

_Must not vomit_, he assured himself.

He drove up to the Deerbourne building entrance, parked halfway on the curb, ignored the meter altogether and barreled through the revolving doors. The marble lobby was the first thing he had seen all morning that struck a note of familiarity. Will stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. His shoulders relaxed.

At the security desk, a tall broad shouldered man looked suspicious.

"Marcus," Darcy nodded with a smile only acquaintances could give. "Is Jay working this weekend?"

"Sorry, sir. Would you mind signing in?"

"That's funny," he laughed. "I have my ID badge, right here—"

Will swiped at his pocket and his fingers encircled air. "Oh _shit_," he muttered. "Are you kidding me?"

"Do you have an appointment?"

Will searched his face. No traces of laughter. "I _work_ here. Does _managerial position_ mean nothing to you?"

"Name?" Marcus turned towards his monitor, fingers poised over the keyboard.

_I don't believe this_, Will sighed. "William Darcy. I see you literally every single day."

"Spell that, please?"

"D-A-R-C-Y."

Marcus' forehead creased. "You're not in our database."

"That's ridiculous. Let me see that."

"Don't touch my computer."

"I'm on the thirteenth floor with the top executives of the _company_. Get anybody on the phone and they'll tell you," Will practically pleaded, gripping the countertop. "Project Manager, IPC Department."

"I'll humor you," Marcus smiled without mirth. "_Sir_." He tilted his screen, logged onto the employee database and scrolled through a list. Marcus pointed, "Project manager of _that_ division is Phil Mercer. Nice guy. Recently settled a deal with Nike."

Darcy staggered back. He seemed temporarily winded, as if he was just socked in the stomach.

"Sir?"

Will shook his head and stormed out of the building. He stared blankly at his new car. Jules sat cross legged on top of his hood, dangling a pair of BMW keys with a cheeky grin. "Hiya, Will."

He blanched. "_You_."

"_Me_," she sighed dreamily. "Having a nice morning?"

Will stared at her, absolutely livid. "I—You—It was _real_?"

"Of course it was," shrugged the blonde. "This is a test drive though, so please don't induce a heart attack, 'kay? You're making me nervous. Let's take a drive."

"Give me my _keys!_"

"Oh, but I like your new car _so_ much better," she grinned, tapping the hood. "I'll drive. If you behave, maybe I'll even tell you where your Beemer is."

_That_ shut him up. Darcy closed his mouth and slid inside the car. He slammed the door shut.

"Easy on the merchandise. You and Lizzy don't have insurance on this one."

Darcy's mouth fell open as Jules settled at the wheel. She turned the ignition on and veered smoothly away from the curb and into the slow progression of traffic.

He watched her with loathing. With her smug, pixie face and her high, pretentious blonde ponytail and practical _ownership_ of his life. He hated her.

"Stop burning a hole in my face," Jules simpered. "God, you're always so _pouty_."

"Would you tell me what the hell is going on?" Will demanded. "Like why I woke up this morning next to the woman I dumped a decade ago? Or why I have _sons_? And _diapers_? And a neighbor named Richard? Or why I live in _Jersey_? Or why Phil Mercer has my fucking _job_?"

"Simple," she smiled patiently. "I told you, Will. This is your life as it would have been if you hadn't left for Geneva ten years ago. If you had never left Elizabeth."

"Bullshit," Darcy snorted. "_All this_ would've happened."

"Choices have a habit of rewiring a lot of things. Plus, you sacrificed a lot for your marriage," Jules explained. "_I_ think it's romantic. She made you a better man."

"God, that is so Jack Nicholson," scoffed Will. "Stop that."

"Couldn't resist," she grinned, jerking to a stop. He nearly flew into the windshield. "Oh, and buckle up before I nearly kill you again. This car has sensitive brake pads."

"_Kill me again_?" Will repeated incredulously.

"Haven't we been through this?" Jules looked at him. "I was the girl on the bicycle. Sorry for the accident, again. I'm sure Nationwide will cover it when you get back."

Will buried his face into his hands.

"There, there," she patted his shoulder. "It'll get better. Eventually."

"How long am I stuck like this?" he demanded.

"Until you're ready."

"For _what_?"

She smiled cryptically.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Will slammed the dashboard. He was furious. "You can't just _do_ this to people! Whatever you are, it's immoral!"

"Really?" she mused. "I think it's fun."

"You're fucked up. It's not even Christmas," he seethed. "This isn't _It's A Wonderful Life_!"

"Oh, I _love_ that movie," Jules enthused happily. "Jimmy Stewart is my favorite."

"I'm going to throw up."

"Your car, not mine," she warned.

They drove out of the city and followed onto the highway. Will watched cars speed by as blurred, colorful shapes. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass window. "I want to talk to somebody."

"I wouldn't advise calling Charles Bingley," _tsk_ed Jules. "He won't know you anyway. And your blushing bride-to-be is equally off limits. You'll just alienate yourself further."

"They don't know me," he said with dawning comprehension. Jules watched his face fall.

"They've never met you."

His head was beginning to throb.

"You still have Georgie," Jules nodded approvingly. "Lizzy convinced her to move closer in May, 2002. Plus, since you actually kept in touch, she never felt the need to escape to California to be with your aunt."

Darcy felt a surge of warmth for his sister and faced Jules. "I can see Georgie?" he asked with wonder.

Work and family tensions had pulled the siblings apart over the years. He was lucky to see his little sister once during the holidays.

"She lives half an hour away," grinned Jules. "Darling girl. Mischievously influenced by your wife, but hey, that's inevitable. Lizzy is Lizzy. Everyone adores her."

"My _wife_." Darcy pressed his palms into his eyes. "When did we marry?"

Jules flashed a knowing smile. "Seven years ago."

"Lord." He thumped his head back on the glass and closed his eyes. It suddenly occurred to him to peruse through the contents of his wallet.

Reaching into his sweatshirt, he pulled out the battered hunk of leather and rifled through its folds. Credit cards in his name, social security, a stark business card. He fingered his own name on the titling:

_Will Darcy_  
_Bennet Booksellers_  
_(609) 834-5137_

"You can't be serious."

"I'll leave that treasure up to you to figure out," the girl beside him grinned. "Can't go spoiling everything away for you."

For the sake of his sanity, Will pushed the thought to the backburner of his brain. He shuffled around and found a creased photo, and unfolded it delicately.

It was a picture of Elizabeth and the two boys. It was summertime, at a beach somewhere. Ocean City, or maybe Belmar. She had her shades propped up on her head and her arms wrapped around the older child. _Liam_. The younger sat in her lap, eyes like his mother's saucer wide and glassy. Maybe he was on the brink of bursting into tears.

And then Darcy recognized his own antisocial, camera shy sneer in the older boy's face. Familiar blue eyes were mirrored back at him. Chills ran up his spine and he folded the photograph and slipped it back into the wallet.

Jules drove to a parking lot of a big, industrial building. She turned off the car and handed him the keys. "This is where I leave you. You know your way back home, I take it?"

"That's it?" Will asked skeptically. "You're leaving?"

She shrugged. "I have some business to attend to here. Another Wall Street type's life to ruin." Jules flashed a grin that made him nervous. "Kidding. More or less. Probably less."

"But you can't just _go_."

"Actually, I can," Jules smiled. She leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. "Best of luck. I'd say '_Godspeed_', but it's kind of clichéd, you know?"

"_Jules—_!"

"Toodles." Jules slammed the door and made a graceful sprint towards the building. She disappeared inside.

Will had half a mind to run after her. But something told him he wouldn't have been able to find her even if he tried. Back on the highway half an hour later, he realized she had escaped with the keys to his BMW. "Goddamn," he swore.

* * *

As a man plucked out of his own life and shoved into an alternate universe, Darcy had issues accepting his newfound reality. This resulted in him not returning to his pod home until seven o'clock that evening. Jules's words weren't exactly taken close to heart. He made the grave mistake of looking people up.

Carrie Bingley was in St. Lucia for six months with model/actor Ryan Archer. Will found this out from her personal assistant (not having realized you could actually _have _a personal assistant when you're unemployed); he quickly gathered that his name bore no significance to the receptionist. He was denied her mobile number, and what surprised him the most was that he didn't particularly care.

Charlie, of course, was the real casualty.

He was living at the Domus apartments in University City, right on Chestnut. Fate had done no rewiring here. Bingley was good and settled where he ought to have been; where he _had_ been. With dreadfully optimistic expectations, Darcy had buzzed his number and explained his long, rambling predicament through the intercom. A thoughtful, contemplative pause met him. Will was hopeful.

And then came the burst of wild laughter. Charlie's voice rattled out of the speaker by the entrance. "_Oh, I love Philly drunkards. It's _noon_, pal. Clever story, though. Very heart jerking. Cheers_."

_Click_. Nothing.

Will had stared blankly at the sleek, glass revolving doors. He seriously considered bashing his head in. A little girl flashed him a sympathetic smile from a balcony two stories up. Though from the distance, it could have easily been a disgusted smirk. He turned on his heel and marched back into the Town & Country, shoulders weighed down with defeat. A bar stop followed.

By the time he drove back to Pennington, the sun had almost set. It illuminated the neighborhood in a strange wash of color, and heightened his dislike of the suburbs for no rational reason besides the mess of a life Jules had thrown him into. Will parked the car jaggedly and entered the house, feeling nothing but a tidal wave of self pity.

Everything was silent. The air was static. It was almost as if there had been arguments all day and just recently, everybody had passed around a big old bottle of Xanax.

Will slid out of his shoes and hurled the keys onto the front step. He stood cautious and watchful.

"Is that him?" came a hushed murmur.

"Go check," another answered back.

Three faces peeped around the doorway of the kitchen. He made out Richard Fitzwilliam's tepid, amused expression. It suddenly struck him that they were probably friends. This was Charles's lukewarm replacement of a bromance. He sulked. _Could be worse_. Beside Richard stood a slender woman with wavy dishwater blonde hair. She was pretty in a severe, thin lipped way. Her eyebrows rose, but probably because he was staring.

The third face was the older boy's. _Son_. The word bounced around the corners of his mind like a different language. Liam grinned ear to ear and bolted towards the foyer. His arms snaked around his father's waist for a brief moment before he launched into a different direction. To see his mother, or play Gamecube or wreak havoc in a way that only miniature people can do. Will barely had a second to even _try_ on the sensation of a hug. He watched the space where the boy had just stood.

"Good to see you back," nodded Richard. He tipped a beer bottle in his honor and took a swig.

The woman seemed to swallow back a couple of words. "Lizzy's in her studio, Will."

"Studio?" repeated Darcy.

"I wonder if he has amnesia," Richard entertained wistfully. He grinned, "_You_, Will Darcy. _Me_, Richard. My wife, Joanne. Play along, Jo."

Jo rolled her eyes heavenward. "Ignore him, he's helped himself to one too many of your beers. Elizabeth's waiting for you."

Like a child seeking guidance, Darcy turned left and gauged the reaction of his guests.

"The studio is _upstairs_, Will." Jo nodded helpfully. She smiled for good measure, as if encouraging a Kindergartener.

"Right. Thank you."

Will shuffled up the steps and stood in the center of the hallway. Soft music was wafting from the farthest room of the corridor. Two white double doors were open, and he saw an expanse of hardwood floor end where the carpeting began. He entered and shut the doors behind him.

The studio was steepled with the roof and a giant bay window let the last of the sunlight pool at the floor. Canvases were piled and abandoned along dusty, slipshod beams. Bursts of color marred the walls in a method that looked random but almost purposeful. His eyes scanned the rows of shelves. Paints and brushes and oil pastels and clay and gouache and poised, wooden models. Paper figurines. Bowls shaped from terracotta. Wire sculptures. She had come a long way from doodling on the corners of paper napkins at the corner café.

The Smiths were playing from an iPod portal on the windowsill. And Elizabeth Darcy née Bennet was perched over a bright green canvas, etched around the empty pencil sketch of a young boy. Will craned his neck. The boy was lanky and awkward, with boxing gloves raised timidly at his chin. Everlast headgear wrinkled his forehead. Will couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his mouth. He had always loved watching her paint. It was almost therapeutic. It filled him with memories.

And then Elizabeth looked up.

"You're home," she said flatly.

He suddenly remembered his situation, and the words burst out if his mouth before he could bite them back: "If you can call _this_ place home."

Lizzy rolled her eyes and got to her feet. She was barefoot, and smears of paint had gotten every which way. On her ankles and elbows. A swipe just below her ear. She had never bothered with smocks. Her navy tank top seemed worn and well acquainted with brushstrokes. As she set the giant canvas against the window to dry, he watched the muscles of her back tense.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you put us through today?" asked Elizabeth softly. "Did you stop to think _why_ Richard and Joanne are here?"

"…No." Darcy answered truthfully. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"They were here _all day_ watching the boys. Where was I? Hunting down _your _ass all over town. Half of the people here think I'm deranged. Probably some in Hopewell too. _And_ Flemington." Lizzy practically glowered. "_Cell phone_, Will."

"I took the battery out," he mumbled. It had gone off for hours, and he hadn't been motivated enough to so much as glance at the Caller ID. Will had chucked the Samsung in a garbage can outside of Domus when his life had seemed particularly hopeless. And now he had the audacity to shrug at her.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Where were you?"

"Philadelphia."

Lizzy opened her eyes. "Why were you in the city?"

"Because I _live_ there," Will suddenly spat. "See this?" he waved around the room desperately. "_This_ isn't mine. _You're_ not mine. We're not even married. I dumped you ten years ago at JFK! Not in so many words, but come on. It was _over_." He nodded emphatically and Lizzy cocked an eyebrow. "I'm actually a _very_ successful executive. And I don't live in Hodunk, New Jersey." _And I'm engaged_.

Elizabeth raked her hair into a ponytail angrily and swiveled on her heel, shoving art supplies back onto their shelves. She slammed open a canister and filled it with brushes. "_Funny_, Will. You're so goddamn hilarious! Seriously. Let's dig up the argument about our _mediocre _lives again! It's only been oh say, two or three weeks. When will you take responsibility for _once _in your _life_—"

He sensed a migraine pulsing at his temples. "God," Darcy muttered. His words might as well have been a broken record. He pressed his hands into his face. "Can you stop screaming at me, please?" Will stared at her, beseeching.

She stopped her supercharged cleanup and looked up at him. He watched the frustration on her face simmer into regret. And within a moment, Elizabeth crossed the space between them and embraced her husband. Will stumbled back in surprise. It took him about a second to realize that Lizzy was not (as reasonably expected) throttling him. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. Will's hands unconsciously settled around her waist. She felt so warm and somehow, still very familiar. _Ten years_…

"I don't want to fight," Lizzy murmured against his skin. "It's been a long day. You're home and you're safe and everything else is bullshit. Okay?"

Will nodded without much conviction. He stood in quiet shock. Something told him they had had far worse arguments before…

She pulled back from his arms and touched his cheek. "You can be such a dipshit. Don't make me kick your ass."

He blinked twice.

Lizzy granted him a flicker of a smile. She snatched her iPod from the portal, switched off the lights and left the room. Will stood in the darkness, contemplating what he had just missed in the last two minutes of their argument. Or rather, what was missed in the last ten _years_.


	5. Maybe We'll Find Better Days

**Five: **_Maybe We'll Find Better Days_

Day #2 of Darcy's personal hell unfurled a little more smoothly than its predecessor. His newly betrothed let him sleep in until (glory of glories) ten o'clock.

Will dragged himself out of bed like a man doomed to death row and stood wearily in front of his closet. He thumbed through the hangers and decided that Alterno-Darcy was probably tripping on acid. Ten years later and this crackpot version of himself had fallen into a drudge of jeans, sweatpants, polos and flannel. _Flannel_.

"God, I miss the smell of a freshly cut suit," he muttered, peering into the depths of the walk-in. At last he found a charcoal gray monstrosity that looked as if it hadn't been worn since 1997. A couple minutes of inspection and he realized that he _had _worn it in 1997. "Aunt Catherine's fourth wedding – _fun_."

Defeated, he slipped on a pair of jeans and a Dave Matthews Band t-shirt and crept downstairs barefoot. Clangs of dishes and raised voices traveled down the hall and he let the wafting smell of omelets and fresh coffee guide his feet to the kitchen.

Elizabeth had the cordless phone cradled between her ear and shoulder as she tried to wrestle oatmeal into Sam Darcy's locked mouth. The child looked about thirty seconds away from erupting in hysterics. His small fists were clenched around the tray of his high chair, his Elmo bib slathered in what looked like pureed chicken soup. It was almost enough to dampen the appetite.

"Come _on_, Sammo," Lizzy was pleading, a colorful spoon pivoted at his tiny pursed lips. She sighed and spoke into the phone: "No Mom, I'm still here. Yes, Sam is eating." A pause. "With all due respect, Mother, I can cook for my own children. They're not eating _tar_. Shocking, I know."

Darcy cleared his throat and found a mug in one of the cabinets.

"I don't _care_, Mom. _God_." She sighed with exasperation. "No, I wasn't taking the Lord's name in vain. …Yes. _Yeah_, I know. _Okay_, but we're not even that religious. Really. You're a Jew, Dad's agnostic and Mary's a Buddhist this week."

Will snorted into his coffee and cleared his throat to keep a coughing fit at bay. Lizzy held her palm to the mouthpiece and looked up: "You okay?"

"Fine," he swallowed. "Continue."

She took the phone back. "No, that's just Will. No, he's not sick. _No_, I am not keeping the AC up again. …Mom, Daphne King did _not_ get pneumonia from her air conditioning. I'm hanging up now."

The cordless clattered on the kitchen table and Lizzy huffed and raked her hair into a messy ponytail. The oatmeal was temporarily abandoned and Sam took a keen interest in inspecting the spaces between his toes instead.

Will found that he didn't know how to behave. He leaned against the kitchen counter and constantly adjusted positions, each more awkward than the last. Finally he drew up a chair and sipped his coffee in silence.

Lizzy was already up and about. She was stacking pots and pans into the giant, residue encrusted building of dishes in the sink. One clattered so violently that it nearly split in two; Darcy flinched but she seemed relatively unaffected.

He gathered that she didn't make much of an effort with her appearance on the weekends. Her hair was piled up, exposing a sleepy face completely devoid of makeup. She wore a striped t-shirt with yoga pants and padded around her kitchen barefoot.

Ten years had been kind to her face and figure. But she didn't seem as energetic as she once was. There was an agitation, a sort of restlessness to the way she walked and maneuvered. Then again, Lizzy had just gotten off the phone with Fran Bennet.

And because Jules would have encouraged it, Will attempted to reach out. After all, he was stuck in this temporary acid trip for God knew how long. _Best to take it in stride_.

"Are you …?" he cleared his throat. "Uh."

Elizabeth looked up with curious green eyes. A corner of her mouth quirked into a smile. "I'm okay. You know how I am when she calls me."

"Right," Darcy mumbled around his cup. "I guess your mother hasn't changed."

"In the last 24 hour period?" grinned Lizzy. "Nope. What a shame."

He smiled, bitter. _I meant in the last ten years_. But explaining this was futile.

Will shifted his attention to Sam, who was sucking on three fingers. The boy had light brown hair. He didn't understand why, until he remembered that his own hair had turned darker with age. The kid was cute. It was difficult to tell who he looked like. The eye color, of course, was Lizzy's. But he saw his own mother's features in the slightly upturned nose and rosy cheeks. The thought made him sentimental. It almost touched him.

Sam sensed his stare and looked up. Will smiled hesitantly, half expecting tears to answer back. But the toddler grinned and reached his hands forward. Will swallowed. Something urged him to take his little fist, but he couldn't raise his own hands from his lap. It was just too foreign. Too weird.

_I'm not your father._

It was like Darcy had taken over a different man's life. He had filled another man's shoes and gotten rid of the original model. Like he was no better than a Body Snatcher, and _nobody_ was in on the secret. Nobody understood.

A sudden feeling of loneliness filled his lungs like molasses. Will took a long, tongue burning sip of his coffee. He closed his eyes and tried to keep a headache at bay.

_All in stride. All in stride_.

Lizzy suddenly clapped her hands and startled Darcy from his reverie. He opened his eyes to find her standing right in front of him. He craned his neck back.

"Okay," she smiled. "I need you to go pick up Liam."

He looked around. Somehow, he had failed to notice the older boy's absence. _I'm a natural at this parenting thing._

"From where?" Will asked, bewildered.

"I don't know, I think the mothership said they'd drop him off around noon." Lizzy rolled her eyes and sighed, "_Karate_, Will. Did you forget he had a class?"

"…No."

"Good. Keys are on the counter."

Will scowled.

* * *

Liam Darcy was a little ball of apple juice powered fire. Will watched him skeptically from the rear view mirror of the Accord as he slowed before an intersection. The boy had his little white Karate uniform on, with an oversized white belt dangling onto the seat. In his little hands was a half crumpled box of Juicy Juice. And as he slurped, his mouth flapped on and _on_ about the lesson.

"Sensei said that I was really _super_ good, Dad!" Liam grinned from ear to ear. "I did more crunches than anybody in the _class_! Except for Ryan, but he's a _jerk_ and I don't like _him_."

"That's …neat, kid."

"And I have more Bakugan cards than Ryan _and_ Jason. We counted."

Will made a face. "Bakugan cards? Whatever happened to Pokémon?"

"Pokémon stinks. Bakugan _rocks_." Liam justified this truth with an emphatic nod.

"Oh."

Within ten minutes, the child had offered him an insight into his mind. Apparently when you're six, life fits into two categories: something can either _stink_ or _rock_. But in some cases, one thing may occupy both categories. For instance, sleeping can stink _and_ rock. Depending on the circumstances of a nap or a later bedtime.

Darcy tried to smother a laugh. He actually found Liam amusing. As they passed by a Chik-fil-A, an idea struck him:

"Hey. Do you want to grab a bite to eat?"

"Yes, yes, _yes_!"

Will smirked and parked the car. He got out to unbuckle Liam, and the boy turned to him with a blue eyed, happy smile.

"I was afraid you wouldn't be back yesterday because Mommy was really upset and you guys sometimes fight a lot; but I'm really, _really_ happy you came back because now we can go get chicken fries and I can get a new action figure that Ryan _doesn't_ have."

Darcy's mouth opened. He stared, dumbfounded. And then he remembered to nod. Liam grinned and hopped out of the car, cupping his palm automatically into Will's. He practically dragged him across the parking lot and into the restaurant with the firm steps of a regular customer.

They sat at a corner booth ten minutes later, but Darcy was too fascinated to eat. He sat across the boy and watched him meticulously straighten out his plastic utensils before he bit into his sandwich. He watched as Liam gingerly dusted crumbs from the corners of his small mouth. And he watched Liam fervently _insist_ that Darcy lay out a napkin onto his knees.

"It's how they do it in the fancy restaurants, Dad."

"Right." _Why not_. Darcy laid out his napkin and looked back up.

Liam was inspecting the cartoon characters on his soft drink cup. Will couldn't help but notice the similarities he had gathered from the photo earlier. The boy bore a striking resemblance to his younger self. He was pale, and dark-haired with stormy blue eyes. Gangly and freckled. No, freckles definitely _weren't_ his. But even so, Will had the sensation of digging out a time capsule and peering into his past.

Except the boy was sociable. For the most part, anyway. Will observed Liam get quieter around adults. When the lady behind the counter had asked him for his order, Liam had made it a point to tug on Will's sleeve and murmur it into his ear instead. When she smiled at him for his behavior, a blush sprouted onto his cheeks. But otherwise, Liam Darcy seemed perfectly chatty. Effusively so.

Will looked out across the table hesitantly. "Hey, Liam?" he started.

"Yeah?" he chewed and swallowed.

"You said …earlier, I mean… that your Mom and I fight a lot." He raised his eyes. "Is that true?"

Liam shrugged. "I dunno."

"But you said so."

"You're fighting a lot more since you came back from that trip."

Will frowned. "What trip?"

"That business trip. Mom said it had to do with work. But then I told Mom that that's _impossible_ because you already run Grandpop's store so you _have_ work. And then she laughed when I told her that story about Grandpop and the saltwater taffy, even though I told it like a ba_zillion_ times. But I think Mom just likes laughing. So she laughed like a ba_zillion_ times."

He raked a hand through his hair and fixed the boy with a cool stare. One issue had been replaced by another in his mind entirely. With detachment in his voice, Will echoed: "I run Grandpop's store."

"Uh-huh. Mom's dad, not _your_ dad because your dad is dead."

"…Thanks, Liam."

"You're welcome," he smiled.

"What's the store called?"

"Bennet's Booksellers on 31st and Walnut, across from Mac's Dry Cleaners and Così." Liam anticipated a compliment for his memorization skills, and probably would have gotten one if Will wasn't so preoccupied. He slumped in his seat at the silence that followed.

The name struck a chord with Darcy. The business had been in the Bennet family for nearly two decades. Well, now it was _three_ decades. What on earth had possessed him to take over John Bennet's family heirloom of a shop? Why had his own dreams been dashed away to dust? He cradled his head in his hands.

"Why do I run Grandpop's shop?"

Liam sipped from a straw and answered with boredom: "Because Grandpop had that heart attack and Grandma made him retire."

Will looked up, astonished. "When was that?"

"I dunno."

"Do you remember it?"

"_No_," Liam burst into giggles. "Mom says you can't remember things when you're a _baby_. You just think _baby things_."

Will sat back. _Of course_.

"Like pooping. Do you think Sam still thinks about pooping?" he sniggered.

"I don't know, Liam." Will pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Come on, kid. We have to get you back home." He scrunched the sandwich's wrapper into an aluminum ball and launched it into the trash can. "Let's go."

Darcy and Liam got home a little after one o'clock. The entire house smelled like cleaning chemicals, but there wasn't a soul left to enjoy the cleanliness. A note on the fridge ("Cute," Will mumbled, unpeeling it) got him up to speed:

_W—_

_Left to stock up on food. Took Sam with. Parents are coming over for dinner tonight. Sisters can't make it (don't be too upset). Please vacuum and try not to torch the house. Remember the mortgage._

—_L_

_PS: I love you. Like Yoko and John Lennon but not as weird._

He folded the note and stuck it into the front pocket of his jeans. Then he poured himself the last of the cold coffee from the pot and sipped it black while staring pensively out the kitchen window._ I love you_. She loved him.

Liam had powered on the television set in the living room over and was already navigating the Nintendo Wii menu like some sort of seasoned pro. Will's eyebrows lifted. Either this was precociousness or each generation simply had a jumpstart to technology. Liam inserted the disc for _Super Smash Bros. Brawl_ and hopped back with sheer delight.

* * *

The wine was definitely needed.

Darcy had helped himself to about three glasses since they sat at the table fifteen minutes prior.

Not that anybody complained. Elizabeth arched an eyebrow but said nothing. John Bennet (bless his old soul) grinned with warmth. Fran pursed her lips and plucked each and every raisin out of the garden salad that wasn't so much _made _as it was store-bought from Super Fresh. Along with the smoked hallibut, seasoned chicken breast, and veggie couscous from the farmer's market.

"Couscous," John murmured in that soft, deep baritone of his. "It's like wheat, right?"

Lizzy chased a grain around her plate and smiled. "I always thought it was more like rice."

"I _hate _raisins." Fran looked up and glowered. "Did you put raisins in the salad just to _spite _me, Lizzy?"

"Of course not," her daughter insisted. Lizzy dabbed at her mouth and snuck a furtive glance to her father. John snorted and covered this up with a cough into his fist. Will suddenly remembered that ten years ago, he had taken a liking to Elizabeth's father. There was a warmth to his eye and a quick but tolerant humor for the ridiculousness of his family. Lizzy was much like him in temperament. Only a little more passionate. A little more driven.

The years had not altered the Bennets too significantly. Being naturally paranoid, Fran had sought out to preserve her aging beauty through frequent trips to the salon and the slathering of nighttime creams. Crows feet were apparent around her skeptical brown eyes, as well as the wrinkles around her mouth. Half a bottle of wine later and Will remembered these were laugh lines and nothing sinister.

John had aged. His hair was more salt than pepper now and his hands sometimes shook out of nervous habit. Darcy assumed this was from a lifetime of hard work. A heart problem probably hadn't helped much either. But his face displayed all the coolness his wife did not possess. He didn't see fit to fret about _anything_, in fact. It was a healthy way to live, if not somewhat detached.

"Are we starting a new section tomorrow, Will?" asked John. "For the catalogue, of course. George called me two days back."

Will looked up over the rim of his glass and his eyebrows furrowed. "...Catalogue?"

"_Inventory_," John emphasized gently. He smiled, "You guys are so technical in there nowadays. Before we had nothing but barcodes and one scanner. Now you need about ten different programs to access the merchandise."

"Good," said Lizzy. "It keeps it organized. It was a wreck before Will got in there."

"Thank you, Lizzy," noted John with a smirk. "Twenty years of blood, sweat and tears and it's now a _wreck_."

"You know what I mean!" she laughed. "You had incompetent partners who totally swindled you, Pop. All that forked over cash for faulty systems. At least Will and George developed a secure database. So now, you're not only a cozy and independent bookstore, but a _professional _one too."

Fran beamed. "Your father refuses to believe the fact that the store can live on without him."

"Well, believe it," cautioned Elizabeth quietly. "Because we're not putting you under that stress again.

Will traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip, then tossed it back and swallowed hard. He felt dizzy. With a shaky step, he stood up from the table and excused himself into the study down the hall.

Clicking the door shut behind him, Will realized this was _definitely _his room. It was all rich, wooden surfaces. Smooth cherry desktop, sleek computer monitor, polished bookcases brimming with volumes. He half expected to find a bottle of brandy on the second shelf below the photo albums; but the drawer was stuffed with old letters instead.

He sighed and rested his head against the first shelf, until the pressure bothered him. Looking up, he pulled the second volume out from the row and let it fall open in his lap. Crooked, scrapbooked photos of his last year at college greeted him. Will smiled a little and leaned closer. He recognized his old roommate's face and a familiar crowd of friends. And that cozy bar on 22nd with the barred windows. And Kayla, the bartender with the butterfly tattoo. He flipped the page.

There was a creased photo of Lizzy sitting on the hood of his car. Her smile lit up her eyes and her arm was linked with Charlotte Lucas's. It was a candid, and both girls seemed to be sharing some joke that had them giggling hysterically. In the back of his mind, he almost remembered taking the picture. But it was too much to think about now. He snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. It was then that Will noticed the row of videotapes just above it…

"Hey," Elizabeth poked her head in the doorway. He flinched, startled again, and Lizzy frowned. "Wow, second day and running. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he croaked.

"Mom and Dad are leaving. I even made pound cake but Mom's watching her carbs _today_ (of all days) and now she has to avoid all temptation. She's dragging Dad home with her."

"Okay…"

She beamed and motioned both hands, "Help me clean up? Please?"

They showed the Bennets out and cleared away dishes in absolute silence, careful not to clang the china in fear of waking up the boys. Lizzy let the dishwasher run and refolded Will's sloppily folded tablecloth for him. Then she stacked away all the leftovers into the refrigerator, locked up the doors and refilled the cat's water dish…

"Whoa," Will froze. "We have a _cat_?"

Lizzy wheeled around suspiciously. "Um, I know Sage doesn't like you, Will. But that's no reason to completely deny her existence."

"Why haven't I seen the cat?"

"She _hates _you. Look on your elbow if you forget the scar," laughed Lizzy.

Sure enough, Will looked. There was a faded and jagged pink slice near the crook of his elbow. He paled. _Creepy_.

"Besides," Lizzy sighed and gathered up the place mats, "she follows _Liam _around."

Will shook his head and sighed. He leaned against the counter and waited for her to finish. Lizzy felt his stare and looked at him over her shoulder. After a few moments, she turned off the kitchen light so that only the hallway light illuminated the room. Then she peered up at his face and pursed her lips: "You're pretty strange today, you know? I think you helped finish all the wine off."

"It was a good wine," was his weak response.

"Not really," laughed Lizzy.

He smirked and glanced down at his feet. She was still staring at him when he looked back up. Her green eyes searched his, but she said nothing.

It suddenly dawned on him how strange his behavior must have been to her. But he simply couldn't adjust to this. To the new boots he had quickly (and involuntarily) filled. He wasn't her husband. He wasn't a father. That man, the man who had seemed to take a route more for others than for himself, had up and vanished. And Darcy sure as hell was _not _that man.

Lizzy stepped back and moved one of the chairs closer to the table. Then she sighed and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I'm going to bed," she murmured. "See you upstairs." At that, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him softly at the corner of his mouth. By the time he turned into the kiss, she was already gone. Her footsteps were padding down the hallway.

Darcy leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. Then he remembered something.

"Lizzy!"

She swerved on her heels and looked at him from across the corridor. "Yeah?"

"I uh," Will rubbed the back of his neck. "I like Liam. A lot. I didn't think I would at first, since I'm not that great with kids," he babbled. "But he's really… well, he's really something."

Lizzy's smirk was ghostlike in the darkness. "Glad to hear it. Maybe we'll keep him."

* * *

**Author's Note**: You guys are pretty fabulous. Oh, and I changed Mr. Bennet's business to a bookstore. For a library drone, it just seemed more fitting. Thanks very much for reading! Let me know what you think.

As for Darcy's particular brand of "Jeebus, you're an _asshole_, man" …(and trust me, _many_ people have brought it up) … all I can say is: Have some faith. Like that John Hiatt song, "Have A Little Faith In Me"? It's a journey, dears.


	6. The Not So Well Adjusted

**Six**: _The (Not So) Well Adjusted_

Bennet's Booksellers was adorable. It was sandwiched between an Au Bon Pain and a Baby Gap, which had the opportunity of being pretty depressing; instead, it was a breath of much needed authenticity on that block. A warm, family heirloom embrace in the midst of the three Starbucks cafés Darcy counted as he turned onto 31st.

He seemed to forget the existence of his keys, and therefore took the long way to the customer entrance of the shop and stood, deer in headlights, at the heavy oak doors.

Darcy peeped into the window display, adorned with fake daffodils and dandelions twisted around the newest volumes. Classics were packaged in collector's editions, new releases advertised on vibrant posters. A giant calendar boasted all author signings, children's circles and book clubs for middle aged women. Women of the World dissect _Eat, Pray, Love_ at 7PM. Lady Mirabellum's Children's Happy Fun Hour (Bring Your Own Puppets) Wednesday afternoon. Join us for Nancy Tucket's excerpt from sequel _How My Mother Ruined My Marriage and Libido: Part II_.

He jumped as the doors swung open. A young man squinted up at him, his mouth stretched into a grin. "Hey, Will."

"…Hi."

The man slipped out of the shop and crossed his arms in front of the window display. He cocked his head: "Something's not right, isn't it? I told Edith the flowers were too much. That woman enthuses about summertime like nobody else. And kittens."

Will eyed the young man cautiously. The nameplate beneath the _BBooks_ gold stitching across his chest read George, which sounded mildly familiar from last night's conversation. It was probably _another_ acquaintance to be recognized. Darcy fought an eyeroll. This was difficult.

"Ah well," George shrugged his shoulders and shoved open the doors. "After you, boss man."

Darcy flashed him a look that clearly said "You don't sound like a douchebag _at all_"; he disappeared inside with not the smallest ounce of morning optimism. The smell of ground coffee beans hit him like a long lost relative. It wrapped its arms around his innards and squeezed.

A freckled brunette was writing names on espresso cups at the front counter. She smiled as he walked in: "Hey-ho, Darcy. George and I already scanned in the new merchandise. And we have a new shipment of Warwick's documentaries in the storage room. And J.F. King called about Friday night's booking. And your coffee's cold but that's your fault, not mine."

"Quiet down, Kate," muttered George.

Kate arched an eyebrow: "Nobody asked you, Wickham."

George simply grinned. Boyishly. Carelessly.

Darcy stood staring at the counter. His eyes moved thoughtfully around his workplace. It was an adorable, warmly furnished book shop with cozy, personal touches and a partly exhausted espresso machine. It had rich, mahagony surfaces and plush armchairs. The children's corner was colorful and chock full of abandoned stuffed animals. The biographical section had knowing, expertly painted pictures of Ghandi and Napoleon Bonaparte and Elizabeth I. All the discount signs were hand-written in Sharpie'd bubble letters. It made his stomach churn in the way that scarfing down icing might. It was sweetness and happiness at first. And then it was all vaguely nauseating.

"You look sick," the girl folded her arms. "Is swine flu still going around?"

"_Swine flu_, for real?" chuckled a voice. An older man walked in from the back room, wielding a cardboard box. He looked to be in his late thirties, with black thickly rimmed Woody Allen glasses and a tattoo of a blue jay at the crook of his elbow.

"Did you find the fax, Carp?"

"Yes, I did. You jammed it between yesterday's invoices, Boy Wonder."

Wickham scowled.

Darcy had trouble keeping up. He slid his laptop bag beneath the counter, took his latte from opinionated teenager, Kate Forster, and downed the 20 ounce cup in what had to be ninety seconds. Then he poured himself another.

"Before you OD on caffeine, can I show you what's become of the back room?"

Will looked up at the older man. He pointed at himself: "Me?"

"No, George, because he obviously runs this shop. Yes, _you_."

And what choice did he have? Darcy followed him past the 'Employees Only' sign and into the maze of boxes that was the storage room. It was like a metropolis of books. Only there were no streets or highways between buildings constructed from novels. Three other rooms threatened to reveal more skyscrapers. Several unopened boxes loomed ahead.

The man affectionately dubbed 'Carp' heaved his shoulders with a sigh and pointed: "This shipment's late. We reserved a few copies of Audrey Niffenegger's _The Time Traveler's Wife_ and it was _supposed_ to arrive five weeks ago. UPS lost our package somewhere near Seattle. Which I guess is okay, but we might have lost some Kleenex-happy customers from the delay. This shit is like women's potpourri."

Darcy's shoulders slumped in defeat and absolute indifference.

Carp smirked up at him: "Rough morning?"

"You could say that." A pause. "Are we friends?"

The man grinned and polished his glasses. "Not since I permanently borrowed your Smiths CD, no."

"We seem to be on good terms," observed Darcy.

"I'd say so," laughed Carp. "But I'm not that good at heart-to-hearts. You feeling sentimental, Will?"

"Just curious." His companion's nameplate caught the light: _James J. Carpino_. Carpino. Carp. _Right_.

"Of course," James J. Carpino continued with a wry smile, "my bet is Wickham's worse for confiding in. That kid rubs me the wrong way. Flirts with all the female customers. Loses all the invoices."

"That tall, scraggly one?"

Carp looked amused. "Yes, Will. Good of you to identify him after nine months of his employment. The _scraggly _one who comes in late every Saturday and fills the store up with the stank of Temple University parties. But John thinks he has a heart of gold, and I've respected John Bennet for five long years, so I'll be damned if I don't trust his judgment by now."

Darcy stared at him in silence.

"So," Carp clapped his hand upon one of the boxes, "this is the package you said you wanted me to haul in. I'd help you organize the almanacs but Edith's already got me setting up for the author signage tomorrow evening. You don't hate me, right?"

"…No."

"Cool beans. Holler if you need me," grinned Carp. He deserted him within five seconds.

Darcy sighed and began sifting through the packaged books in the aforementioned box. A few minutes later and the act became almost mechanical as he stacked each in chronological order with nary a second thought. It was just the sort of mind-numbing practice he particularly craved that Monday morning. Routine was nice. Thinking (on the other hand) seemed unpractical. He couldn't give a flying fuck about almanacs.

Will turned back after emptying one box, took one look at Jules sitting on his desk, and nearly screamed.

"Good _God_, William Darcy!" Her hands flew over his mouth. "You _really_ weren't this fidgety before the accident."

His eyes widened. Her hands dropped to her side. "Okay," Jules took a sip of his latte. "So that one was my bad. I'm big on creeping."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Will hissed. He had dropped all books in shock and was hastily scooping them up into clumsy, unorganized piles. So much for Bennet Book Metropolis.

"Checking up on you," Jules smiled pleasantly. "What a charming bookstore you have here. It's so _cute_ that it hasn't been squashed by megachains like Borders and B&N yet. Gives you hope about the recession, doesn't it?"

Will rolled his eyes and propped the books onto the table. Then he took Jules gently by the upper arm and dragged her off of his desk. "Move. Thank you."

"_Reer_," she muttered. "I'm hijacking your coffee."

"Whatever."

"Getting chummy with your new employees, Will?"

"What do you _want_, Jules?" he pleaded with exasperation. "You've already ruined my life. Did you come here to rub it in? Or am I going home anytime soon?"

"That's classified, Darcy," Jules warned. "Besides, can't I just drop in to say hello?"

"Hello," he said curtly. "Now _goodbye_."

"Sourpuss," Jules grinned. "You know," she pat his hand, "I hope that we can be great friends, Will."

"Fat chance of that," he muttered, drawing back coldly. "You might as well be Satan."

"Poo. I never liked red on me."

"Really? It might suit you."

She giggled. "I _like_ you. You're funny."

Will sneered.

"Anyway," Jules hopped up off of the desk and stretched. "It's nice to see you're at least making an _effort _to get settled here."

"Like I have any other choice," Darcy muttered bitterly.

"I'm glad you see it that way," she pursed her lips. "I can't _tell_ you how many guys have just _lost_ it and gone mentally _berserk_. And of course, nobody would _believe_ them about their alternate lives and they wouldn't take 'No' for an answer. So in comes the lawsuits and the trials, and then eventually that cushy padded room and straight jacket. …Men with white suits. I've only had _one_ suicide, thank God. Guy took a toaster into his bathtub. Knocked down half the power in Montgomery County. But you know. Win some, lose some. You cut your losses and move on. Life's for enjoying, not dwelling, am I right? Up top."

Will had paled several shades.

Jules stared at him keenly for a minute. Then she clapped him on the shoulder and burst into giggles. "Oh, _man_. Look at your face! It's a joke, Will. Breathe. Oxygen's good."

He exhaled, "Jesus Christ, Jules."

"You're too easy."

Jules finished his latte, crumpled it up and dunked it into the waste basket. "In all honesty, I'd advise you to try to enjoy yourself while you're here. Or at least make your marriage convincing for Elizabeth. Girlfriend's about two minutes away from suspecting something. Infidelity's my best bet."

"Why should I care?" Darcy sneered.

"Because you're _married _now," Jules explained with a thoughtful smile. "And try as you might to deny it, you care about Elizabeth Bennet and you always have. Love may be long lost, William Darcy, but I saw the way you were staring at her before your accident. And dare I say, she still has the capacity to make your cold heart go _pitter patter_. I give it two weeks tops before you're smitten again."

"That's preposterous."

"I'm sure," she drawled. "In all cases, it wouldn't kill you to attempt to fit into your life here. There's a reason some _version _of you did. It's within you, you know. Act like the man she married."

"But I'm not the man she married."

Jules smiled wryly, "Boy, there are perks for _trying_. That woman is adorable."

Will mumbled under his breath.

"For the last three days, her husband has disappeared on her, given her an impartial silent treatment, and treated their children _and_ marriage like a total nightmare and sham. It wouldn't kill you to be a little sympathetic."

"Sympathetic?" Will echoed with disbelief. "To her? _I'm_ the one going through hell over here; I'm the only thing that's still _real_."

"_This _is your reality now, Darcy," warned Jules with full threat. "I have every power and intention to keep you here. So be nice to your family and enjoy your life."

"And what happens if I don't?" snorted Will. "You'll hit me with a car?"

"Don't be silly," Jules laughed. "I'd choose something a little less predictable than that."

His eyebrows rose.

Jules sighed and swung her legs idly. Then she looked up and smiled. "I guess I'm off."

"Hey," Darcy said.

"Yes, Will?"

"Are Lizzy and I…" he paused. "The night I came back here, we were arguing. And the way she looked at me… Did I hurt her before? I mean, in this lifetime. Has she been hurt? Do we argue a lot?"

Jules was quiet for awhile. Then she gave him a short, hopeful little smile. "I think that takes some figuring out of your own, Mr. Darcy. As for arguing, well. You two have never been ones for smooth sailing, even before the marriage. She's a firecracker and you're a stubborn jackass. Easygoing does not the Darcy household make. But I think you have a _plethora _of things to learn and appreciate. Just putting that out there."

"Thanks for the straightforward answer, Jules."

She winked. "Anytime, Broseph."

"…Did you seriously just call me—"

"Yes. Goodbye." Jules grinned and pecked his cheek again, something he gathered to be a habit. She was charming, in her own infuriating and ass backwards way. His twisted guardian angel took the back entrance out and Will watched Jules step off the curb and slide into _his_ car. His jaw fell.

"_Hey!_"

She shrugged and fiddled his keys: "You can't drive a BMW in _this_ lifetime, Darcy. Nothing says _'I'm a conceited asshole'_ quite like a Beemer. Your personality can't afford it now."

"So what's your excuse?"

"It's shiny." With an impossibly irritating flip of her hair, she revved the engine and sped off.

Darcy returned to his work with a wormed-in sense of wonderment of his situation. He was no enlightened James Stewart by any sense. But Jules was proving herself a little less intolerable and the staff at Bennet's Booksellers had that odd combination of playfulness and respectful reverence that made the environment breathable. Nobody demanded anything crucial of him; no projects to return or incompetent executives to scold during board meetings. There were no fidgety clients save for ecstatic mothers loitering with their daughters in the YA sections or elderly, long time customers perusing the shelves with laced hands.

And everybody knew his name. Nearly every customer was an individually treated regular who seemed to know _his _face by heart. Many had a warm word or a minute or two's conversation to share as they lingered. Regards to John Bennet and his family were almost _always _given, with a warm laugh or a moment's recollection. Will Darcy suddenly had a notion of how this small, individually operating bookstore had lasted for a good handful of decades: the loyal fanbase and family driven roots.

Closing rolled around at seven o'clock in the evening; not that Will had been perceptive to the sales for most of the day. He had lingered by the inventory and the back shelves, watching and observing his Alterno-life. If anything, he seemed like a wandering victim of amnesia. His co-workers chalked it up to stress behind his back. But Edith (another longtime employee) had implored him to help them lock up. Even though all Darcy did was stand stupidly as _she _clicked shut the register and punched in the alarm.

"Are you all right, Will?" she chuckled as she powered off the back lights. "The young ones giving you a hard time today?"

George and Kate's shifts had long passed. Carp had booked it an hour before. Darcy was left with the company of Edith "Edie" Reed, a sweet woman with horn rimmed glasses and palpable affection for cardigans and Lewis Carroll. She was impossible to dislike. She reminded him of his late grandmother. Hell, she probably reminded _everybody _of everybody's grandmother.

"You know," Edie slung her pocketbook over one shoulder, "everybody says you've been acting strange. Even James told me so. I hope you're not getting cabin fever here. You're too young to be so miserable."

Will half smiled and stared at the window display.

She touched his cheek and smiled with warmth: "Have a good evening, boy. Give your family my love."

"…I will."

He caught the shop keys as she tossed them across the threshold.

* * *

Lizzy wasn't home when he drove back to Jersey. She had left the boys with a sitter and another Post-It lovingly slapped onto the refrigerator. He had finally garnered that she worked as an art teacher at one of the elementary schools in Liam's district; she was on the panel for the annual Art Show 2009, as it seemed. The house was empty without her presence and the children sleeping upstairs.

Darcy wandered his house barefoot. He traced every wall with his hands and inspected each photograph and canvas. He saw traces of Lizzy in nearly every piece of furniture. She always had eccentric tastes. But he saw inclinations of his own in the traditional wallpaper and dark, masculine armchairs. Compromises in Ikea, of course. He saw no other explanation for it in a house that was rioted with color.

He had half a mind to peruse the videotapes he had discovered the day before, but decided to settle down with dinner instead. He found leftover lasagna and edamame in the fridge and perched himself at the island with a glass of wine. Darcy ate in absolute silence until he heard the lock turning in the front door. Peering past the corridor and into the foyer, he watched Lizzy heave four canvases and three small bags inside.

"Kids asleep?" she whispered.

"Sitter tucked them in."

"I _love _Alice," Lizzy threw her head back and giggled. "She's my gift from God. At $10 an hour, but we can't be too picky, can we?"

Will half smiled and leaned against the railing as she perched the canvases along the wall. Every trace of cold reserve or hurt from the last couple of days seemed washed clean. She seemed transformed from her students, and rattled off about the exhibits: "Of course, _every _year is better and better. I'm _so _proud of them opening up, you have no idea. Some of those brats can be emotionally constipated, and you don't realize it until you get their hands on clay or acrylic."

"That's—"

"Oh! Hold that thought." Lizzy's green eyes shone mischievously as she dug out a package from a little brown bag. She thrust it in his face like some sort of sacrificial offering. "Charlotte Lucas got me cheesecake at Coldstones tonight. I think I'm only showing it for you to lust after though; it's pretty doubtful that you're getting any of this. I'd just accept it now before the tears begin."

At that, she swiveled on her heel and marched towards the kitchen in search of a spoon.

Darcy caught up with her and stared as she rifled through the cabinets.

"Let me get this straight: your entire happiness extends from a slice of _cheesecake_."

"It's _Coldstones_, Will," muttered his wife. "Don't objectify it as only cheesecake. You'll hurt its feelings."

"I'm sorry. I'll take the food's feelings into consideration next time."

"I know you will."

Just then, he felt something warm brush across his ankle. He yelped as a tawny, amber cat purred and darted under the kitchen table. "Jesus," Will raked a hand through his hair, "and there's the goddamn cat. I _knew _it would just pop out of nowhere. And there it is!"

Lizzy stared at him sympathetically and divvied a slice onto a seperate plate. Then she handed it over: "Here. You need this. You're weirding me out. And I'm around weird people all fucking day. But you take the cake." Her nose suddenly wrinkled and she burst into hysterical giggles: "_Take the cake!_ Oh my God! It's literal!"

Darcy smirked. "Did you have anything else at Coldstones?"

"Not at Coldstones, no. The bar across the street, on the other hand…" She tossed her head back and laughed: "Ahaha._ Cake!_" Lizzy stared at the island where his deserted dinner was and cocked her head. "Hey, we still have wine? I've stopped shopping at _Wine & Spirits_ ever since Richard drank all my Bailey's Irish Cream."

"Nope, we're all out. Finished."

"You're a liar," accused Lizzy. She poked her finger at his chest.

He laughed: "You're tipsy."

"You're cute."

Lizzy wrapped her arms around his neck. Her face was tilted up to his, her green eyes as magnetic as ever. He cupped her cheek with his hand and tucked a curl of hers back behind her ear. Her hair had nearly fallen out of its clip, but she didn't seem to mind this so much. And as she smiled at him, Will's mind filled with Jules's words. Of course he still cared for her. The years hadn't simply up and disappeared, after all.

"I forgot what this was like," Will murmured. "I mean, there were others, obviously. But it was always so different with you. I just keep running away from it."

"You've gotten this _really _strange habit of babbling lately so I've started tuning it out. And I _would _tell you to shut the hell up because you're killing my mostly imaginative buzz, but you're just too damned cute when you ramble and you don't notice that I play with your hair even though I _do_," Lizzy explained as she ran her fingers through the ends of his hair. "See what I mean? Took you forever to catch on."

Darcy laughed quietly.

"Hey, how was work?"

"What? Oh. Edith sends her love."

"Edie's friggin' adorable. Edie's like Doris Roberts meets Betty White."

"She smells like mothballs."

"That's the elderly," Lizzy clicked her tongue. "My grandfather smelled like dominoes and shoe polish. But you love them anyway. They fill your sentimental childish heart with warm memories before your mother pisses on your dreams and disapproves of your future and mothering methods. Not that I'm speaking of my own life, of course."

"Of course not."

"At least Mama's always approved of you though," sighed Lizzy, tracing shapes on his shirt. "Even after you left me sophomore year at Muhlenberg. I was heartbroken and it seemed like my entire _family _was heartbroken. You said it would be a year. But come on, every girl really knows what a year is. When you came back two days later, I thought I would never recover from happiness. It was that important to me."

"I came back?" Will echoed.

"Yeah, I _still _don't know what possessed you to come back to me, but thank God you did. I'd like to think it was some intuitive power, but I don't really believe in that shit. But still, I hadn't told you I was pregnant before your flight and it was almost as if you _knew_. I guess it was just meant to be."

Darcy's stomach gave a small flip. He pulled back in an instant. "Oh my God."


	7. My, My, My

_In the morning I'll be with you  
But it will be a different kind  
I'll be holding all the tickets  
And you'll be owning all the fines_

"Skinny Love" – Bon Iver

**Seven**: _My, My, My_

Lizzy looked up cautiously. In ten years, Will Darcy had accomplished a pretty genius air of uptight stoicism. But that was all dashed to pieces now; he looked like he had just swallowed a ping pong ball.

"Pregnant," Darcy repeated, breathy.

Her eyebrows rose delicately. "Yes, pregnant. That itty bitty thing when a woman's with child." Lizzy watched him drag his hands through his hair while she added softly: "Or _was_, anyway. For five weeks. Then the miscarriage."

A strange collection of emotions threw themselves across his face. She watched confusion morph into shock. And then something that seemed very much like guilt. Blame. Darcy swallowed.

"Lizzy," his voice cracked.

She shook her head, "It was a long time ago, Will. Some things just aren't meant to be."

"I—"

"Forget it," Lizzy assured him, her hand against his cheek. "Look, at least you were with me. I don't know how I would have gotten through it otherwise."

In a different lifetime, these words probably would have comforted his conscience. But Darcy's face was pale in the wan light coming from the kitchen pendant. She opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, but Sam's cry filled the foyer and snaked into the room.

Lizzy sighed, told him she would see him upstairs, and abandoned the room.

Will stood there in dull silence for a full minute. Then he pressed his hands into his eyes. "Oh my God. Oh my _God_."

The gears suddenly chinked into place. That look on her face when he left her at the airport. That _look_. His stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. In an instant, he had to know.

The bathroom door was open upstairs and light spilled into the hallway. Elizabeth stood with Sam teetering on the counter; the boy's eyes were wet and puffy. As Will reached the top of the steps, he watched Lizzy murmur to Sam and hand him back a stuffed racecar. She wiped his nose with a tissue and smiled.

"What if I had gone?" Darcy demanded.

Lizzy turned her head. "What?"

"If I had left you at the airport ten years ago. Would you have told me?"

"What does it matter? You came back."

"But what if I _hadn't_."

"But you _did_."

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I had left to Europe," he explained slowly, "and this had happened to you, would you have told me?"

Lizzy was quiet for a moment. She took the sleepy, sniffling Sam and disappeared into his bedroom where she lowered him into his crib. Darcy waited the three minutes before she slipped out of the room, clicked the door shut and leaned against the frame with folded arms.

"Let me get this straight: you're asking me if, _hypothetically_, I would have told you what had happened even if you had left for that internship in Europe?"

"Yes."

She chewed on her lip and thought, "Probably. Maybe. I don't know."

His face crumbled.

"I mean," Lizzy tried to amend, "look, if all this had happened and you were off in another part of the world building a new _life_ for yourself, well… that would be pretty cruel to hold you back like that, wouldn't it? What would be the point? To give you a heart attack overseas?"

"Jesus _Christ_, Lizzy—"

"God Will, so much for _hypothetical_—"

"_Nothing_ is hypothetical!"

They were silent for a few moments.

Lizzy stared pensively. "I'd like to think I would have told you."

Darcy looked up at her and couldn't help the guilt that constricted his throat.

_You didn't_.

* * *

Georgiana Wilhelmina Darcy was not happy.

It wasn't on account of her middle name, because that particular mortification was generously looked after during her elementary school years. No, _this_ disappointment stemmed from your common shitty Tuesday.

Poor Georgie had burned her tongue on coffee, forgotten to pay her electric bill and gotten a speeding ticket all in one morning. And now she bitterly sought to dump all of her frustrations on an unassuming brother who probably deserved it, judging by her most recent phone call with her favorite (okay, _only_) sister-in-law.

Also, working in a stuffy office building in Ewing was making her a little stir-crazy. Center City Philadelphia in the summertime was a lovely alternative if you avoided back alleys. So Georgie Darcy called in sick, took Route 95 South and parked at Bennet Booksellers at eleven in the morning.

Inside, Edith Reed was imploring a young girl to buy the Sookie Stackhouse series over the Twilight saga. Unfortunately, this seemed like a lost battle. Georgie grinned and waited at the front counter, inspecting a stack of mail. Edie finally whipped around with a grin: "Ah, who have we here?"

"We've met, Mrs. Reed."

"I know, dear. Your brother's in the back contemplating suicide."

"_Edie!_" Kate's face shot up from a stack in the back, outraged.

The old woman shrugged, "Well it _looks_ like it."

Snorting, Georgie wove her way around the bookshelves and pushed into the storage room. Her brother's back met her. He was sitting Indian style in the center of the room, an automatic label maker in his lap. Darcy didn't seem to be doing anything more than staring at the carpet.

"You know, they have prescription drugs for this kind of shit now."

Will turned around sharply, his jaw slack. His face transformed in an instant. "Georgie!" Suddenly she was up in his arms, laughing and struggling to break free.

"Holy _crap_, Will," Georgie teased, pulling apart mid-hug. "You act like you haven't seen me in years. I just bothered you guys two weeks ago."

"No," Will murmured, grinning ear to ear. "No, it's been _years_. Only Christmases and the occasional phone call, you've been in California with Aunt Catherine all this time!"

Georgie arched an eyebrow and laid her palm flat against his forehead. "Sick, Will? You start to sound loopy during a spike in temperature."

His expression changed, as if Darcy suddenly remembered something vital. "Oh God, that never happened either. Shit. _Fuck_, it's so hard to keep track of this acid trip Alterno-life. You stayed close because I was still in state, right? There was no reason for Aunt Catherine to look after you."

Georgie looked at him pleasantly and hopped up on onto the desk. "Yeah so, Lizzy warned me about this."

"About what?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that you're going batshit crazy. Did you know that all your neighbors think you have minor head trauma?"

Darcy made a face. "I was not aware."

"Tell me." His sister took an orange from a bowl on top of the microwave and began peeling thoughtfully. "Seriously, I'd like to know what's going on with you. Edith thinks you're going to kill yourself, and apparently you don't recognize your own children anymore."

He opened his mouth and closed it. Something seized up in him, wishing desperately to explain what happened to this waif of a girl who shared the same blue eyes and temporary scowl. But as he watched her, he knew he couldn't. He just couldn't.

Will's shoulders slumped. "I'm just having a bad week."

"I'll say. What kind of a man abandons his family on a Saturday without saying anything?"

"Jesus, you really _do_ talk about everything with Lizzy."

"We're like this," Georgie crossed her forefinger with her middle. "It's your fault for marrying somebody so likeable."

He thought about this. Whatever spark had been in Elizabeth Bennet seemed washed out. Distant and wary. It was his doing and he knew it. Well, save for rare moments of alcohol induced bliss. Will closed his eyes and was strongly tempted to bury his head in his hands and keep it there. Guilt and confusion had wracked him all night. All he wanted to do was confront Elizabeth about what she had done. About why she had never _told_ him. But it was as if the rewind button had already been pressed. It had never happened.

Georgie dunked her orange peel into the trashcan and cheered, oblivious to her brother's struggles.

Distracted, he looked up and smiled. "You look so grown up."

"_Tch_," she waved her hand.

"You almost look like Mom," he said softly. "She wore her hair like that too."

Georgie touched her black curls and shrugged. "I don't remember her."

"You were little."

She fixed him with a cool stare for awhile: "You're so _strange_, Will. It's like you've been gone for a long time and you came back with new glasses or something."

"That's an interesting way to put it," Darcy muttered.

"Maybe you're stressed out," she offered helpfully. "Which is bizarre, because it was your job _before_ this that was stressful."

He looked up with a jolt as she continued: "Then again,_ I_ never found advertising appealing. But you were trying to hop that wagon off of the Pierce company and onto Deerbourne and you were spreading yourself too thin. Too competitive."

"I was going to work for Deerbourne?"

"You were trying to work your way up, sure. But then the thing with Lizzy's dad…"

"Right," he murmured, rising to his feet.

Slowly, the pieces of his life were fitting together. It was _almost_ less of a headache than it was before.

"Anyway," Georgie clapped her hands, "are we on for lunch? I'm craving paninis like a mother."

"Yeah, you're on," Darcy smiled. She laughed and hugged him, and he suddenly felt true happiness amid all the confusion for the first time in _days_. His own sister, here with him. Maybe things were looking up.

The back door opened a smidge and George Wickham poked his head in. "Hey Will, I'm out for lunch but Carp is covering—_oh_. Sorry, I didn't know you had company." He smiled at the pretty brunette next to his boss.

"It's fine. This is my sister, Georgiana."

"Pleasure," Wickham extended a hand. "I'm George. Very happy to share a prefix with you."

"Sorry?"

"Well, _name_ prefix. George. Georg_iana_."

"Oh," she snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah. Look at that."

Wickham grinned and lingered. At last he said "See you around" in a decidedly awkward way and disappeared.

Georgie slung her purse over her shoulder. "What a tool."

Darcy snorted and grabbed his keys from the back counter as his sister held open the door for him.

"By the way," Georgie said, "I might have been snooping around your mail when I first got here. But the famous invitation finally came in."

"Invitation?" asked Darcy warily.

"Well _yeah_," she laughed. "Jane's wedding invitation."

"Jane Bennet?" concluded her brother, enunciating.

"No, Fonda," Georgie rolled her eyes. "_Yes_, Bennet. You're so slow today."

Will sighed and shook his head. He was past arguing. Better to let every speck of news hit him as it came. Maybe there were no surprises left. "Right. Who's the lucky man?"

"Some guy with a couple roman numerals stamped to his name. Bingley something or other."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Oh _snap_.

Ya'll are delightful.

Two things. Lizzy having a secret child in the real world (_Real World_, lawl) is a _wee_ bit too melodramatic and angsty for my personal taste. Also, Darcy wealth was brought up in a review. He's middle class, born and raised. He just clawed his way up the corporate ladder before Jules stole his keys and ruined his life. Maybe that breaks the deal for some because it splinters that whole Mr. Darcy package where he's loaded ("_Half_ of Derbyshire!") – but I don't think that's so important. But I digress. Thanks again for all the lovely support! Bear with the shorties, I'm just setting the stage for my shenanigans.


	8. But of All These Friends and Lovers

(**Author's Note**_, Heytherr_)_:_ So, this chapter is dedicated to Eat A Taco. Not for any particular reason, other than the fact that I've never had a more hilarious, rambling and cracked-out review. Thank you for several amusing minutes. You are lovely. Sorry I couldn't individually reply, but you wrote me a novel. (: And it was epic.

* * *

**Eight:** _But of All These Friends and Lovers_

Jane Bennet sat patiently in a corner booth. She ordered coffee, smiled at her waiter, and rearranged the sugar packets in alphabetical order. Then she took a quick glance in her day planner, buttoned it shut and made a promise to herself not to look at the monstrous thing during lunchtime.

_Starting …now._  
Her fingers fidgeted.

A gust of warm air hit her face as Elizabeth pushed through the front doors and disrupted the lovely blanket of air conditioned bliss that had cocooned itself around Ruby Tuesday since eleven that morning. Jane's face lit up like an open window and Lizzy might have very well screamed.

They collided by the hostess's stand. About half a dozen menus were knocked over, and they scrambled to pick them up.

"Working abroad has definitely made _you _more coordinated," snorted Lizzy.

"_What?_" Jane sputtered, "That was all you."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"_Brat_."

Lizzy laughed.

Jane broke out into a massive grin. She yanked her little sister into a bear hug. "God, I _missed _you!"

Attracting too much attention in the foyer, they finally took a seat at their booth. Menus were spread out but neither had the motivation to pick out anything amid all the rapid fire catching up. Sisters separated was a thing to be reckoned with. It's the type of bond that can scar phone bills for life.

Lizzy propped her shades up on the top of her head and grinned at her oldest (and loveliest) sister. "You've gotten so _tan_."

"Guilty," grimaced Jane, extending her wrist against the younger Bennet's. "I've changed skin color. I bathe in sunscreen now."

"Sounds gunky," Lizzy laughed. "I'm so pale that I'm used in crime scene investigations."

Jane tilted her head. "You're so pale that Pillsbury is considering you to be the new Dough Girl."

"I'm so pale that my ankles could light the way to Mordor."

"Remind me again why I didn't take you with me?"

"Three reasons," Lizzy clicked her tongue apologetically. "One, I'd fry like Bill Compton. Two, I kind of have this family to look after and about forty snot-nosed art students. And three, I can't fit in overhead storage bins anymore."

"_D'oh_," lamented Jane, her big brown eyes sympathetic. "Bummer about that last bit. We folded you up like a pretzel on the way to Puerto Rico. You were ten."

"Isn't that the flight I got us kicked out of?"

"Yes."

"Mom was _super _happy."

"_Yes_," Jane laughed.

When they had finally placed their orders, Lizzy saw fit to interrogate her older sister on the last three months of her absence. Jane had been stationed in Sri Lanka and the medical staff was overstretched beyond belief. It was common for some physicians to see up to two hundred patients a day and decide which surgeries were priority at the MSF hospital. But the chaos of a few months prior had been winding down, and Jane seemed grateful. Especially for the little things.

Lizzy squeezed her sister's hand. "You trooper, you." It might have sounded patronizing, had anybody else said it.

For the most part, Jane looked well. Her tanned face was weary and exhausted, but her eyes were bright as ever. Truth of the matter was that somebody as exuberant as Jane would probably need a bulldozer to trample her upbeat energy. A bulldozer and _probably _several warships. People are always under the assumption that somebody so sweet and gentle would be easy to pull apart at the seams. On the contrary, Lizzy had always known Jane to solve problems with patience and soft words. It took a stronger person to control her own emotions and stay strong.

Of course, it might have helped to come home to a ridiculously adorable fiancé.

Jane's eyes narrowed at the accusation, but nothing could trump the small little smile that bloomed on her face.

"I met him, by the way," Lizzy said smugly. At Jane's hanging jaw, she laughed, "Last month, when I was dropping off your mail. I _might _have _sort _of perused your answering machine, called him up and set a dinner date."

"You called _Charlie_?"

"I knew things were getting serious and I had to check him out for myself!"

"You're incorrigible," moaned Jane. "Don't tell me you grilled him."

"Not at all. We got on fine. He's as sweet as rhubarb pie." At this, Lizzy laid a hand on her stomach, "Damn, I _want _pie."

Jane's head jerked up ecstatically. "Oh, he _is_ sweet, isn't he? And it's so _genuine _and heartwarming." Her shoulders slumped and she laughed, "Why did I have to date so many assholes before I found him at that benefit in Chicago?"

"Gosh, I'm not sure. But when I get home, I'll shake my Magic 8 Ball and let you know." Jane swatted at her. Elizabeth grinned, "You know, Dad's not too thrilled about the super fast engagement. But Mom is all _a-flutter_. Just warning you about what you're going to come home to in a couple of hours. Jealousy from Lydia, indifference from Mary, caution from Dad, and Mom's chipmunk voice."

"Figures. Thanks for the preview," Jane grinned. "I'm not worried, though. The engagement party is coming up and Charlie's just _way _too likeable. I'm only afraid of him buckling under pressure from Dad's laser heat vision. Otherwise, I think everybody will be happy. Do you think he'll get along with Will?"

"Who knows. In public, Will's about as easygoing and interesting as oatmeal."

"Charlie likes oatmeal."

"Yeah, but not the _good _Quaker Oats oatmeal. Something shitty like America's Choice without the artificial goodness of maple sugar flavoring."

"_Ah_," Jane was pensive for awhile. "I wasn't aware that you married a breakfast option."

"We haven't made this revelation public yet," explained Lizzy.

"So," Jane clicked her tongue. "Are things still iffy with you guys? Granted, I haven't really asked you about it since he came back from that business trip."

"Yeah," Lizzy frowned, tucking her hair back behind an ear. "He's been weird. Just _distant_, I guess. You know about the fight we had over that job offer in Seattle, but I really thought everything was smoothed over. Apparently not." She slumped against her seat and sighed, "Maybe he resents me for making him run Dad's store."

"That's bullshit. It was _his _idea, not yours."

"Still."

"Oh come on, Lizzy, he loves you."

"Jane, he's been walking around like he has _no _idea what's become of his life." Their orders arrived and Lizzy paused, picking up her sandwich. "He's a _stranger_. I feel like I'm in that movie where that alien inhabited Johnny Depp's body and passed as Charlize Theron's husband."

"Um, that sounds reasonable," Jane arched an eyebrow. "Except your husband's not an astronaut possessed by an extra-terrestrial."

"Point for you."

"Maybe stress is getting to him," offered Jane.

"Or maybe he hates me," suggested Lizzy.

"I'll squirt this ketchup bottle at you," threatened her sister. "Is it too early for midlife crisis?"

"_Way _too early, Janey."

"At least a Harley-Davidson hasn't spontaneously materialized in your driveway. I hear that's how it is now. _That _and an early addiction to Grand Theft Auto."

"I _love _Grand Theft Auto!" Lizzy cleared her throat, green eyes downcast. "Just saying."

"You're a strange mom," decided Jane.

"I am," grinned Lizzy.

"You're that bizzaro combination of mother hen and eccentric aunt."

Lizzy eyes shone mischievously, "And will I have an opportunity to be an eccentric aunt _soon_, Janey my love?"

"Oh _stop_," insisted Jane, sipping her soup. Her cheeks tinged pink. Lizzy giggled.

* * *

"_Charles _Bingley?" demanded Darcy.

Georgie looked at him cautiously as she emptied the last of her Ginger Ale, crumpled it up and launched it into a waste basket two feet away. They were having lunch at Così across the street, nestled into a back corner booth. She was already halfway through a shrimp and watercress salad, and his tomato basil soup had cooled around fifteen minutes ago, completely untouched.

"I thought you didn't know him."

Her brother's blue eyes darted nervously. "I don't."

"_Okay_," chortled Georgie. "That sounds just about right, because we _all _have yet to meet him. For God's sake, Lizzy's been calling him Mr. Cellophane for the last six months." Will raised an eyebrow and she shrugged, "The engagement party should solve that soon. Especially now that Jane's back for the rest of the year."

Will was giving his younger sister a look that was all wide eyes and confusion. As if every word that had just flown out of her mouth had been part of a breaking news bulletin splashed across CNN. After a minute, he remembered to close his mouth.

"Why do I feel like you just heard this all for the first time?" inquired Georgie.

"No reason," Darcy cleared his throat. "I'm slow, remember? …Saltine?" He offered one.

His sister pursed her lips. Will's mind jolted a mile a minute and he stared off in thought.

Charlie Bingley was with Jane Bennet in _this _lifetime, too. And engaged, no less.

Maybe some things were meant to happen, regardless of external circumstances. The thought made him thoughtful. This was before, of course, he considered the repercussions of seeing his best friend again. A best friend who basically had no knowledge of his existence and had mistaken him for a drunk homeless man outside of the Domus apartments several days ago.

"Damn," he mumbled.

Georgie raised her eyebrows.

Will gestured to his soup, "They put too much pepper in here."

"Right."

They wrapped up lunch soon after and Georgie wrestled the check out of her brother's hand. When Will went off to the bathroom, she watched him down the hallway until he disappeared around the corner. Then her hand mischievously dipped into her pocket and she withdrew her cell phone.

The call went straight to voicemail. But this wasn't too problematic:

"Hi Lizzy, it's me. I'm out with Will, and um_yeah_. Can we please schedule an intervention? Because I'm pretty sure my big brother's on shrooms. …Which is _really _just unappealing past your college years."

* * *

Richard Fitzwilliam was, by nature, a bit of an ass.

Only in the sense that he had the tendency to let himself into the Darcy residence, steal a can of Coke, and pass the time watching a _Seinfeld _rerun in their living room. This was usually indulged in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, after Richard would pick up little Chloe Fitzwilliam and Liam Darcy from the bus stop down the street. Lizzy worked late on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Richard came home from work at three sharp. He was a bona fide babysitter for the typical Kindergartener. Two, in this case, since Chloe and Liam shared the same class. It had been a smart little arrangement between neighbors since September 2008.

Jo had always asked her husband why he didn't just take the children into their _own _home. And he had answered honestly that the Darcys had a _plasma _screen, for God's sake.

(In this way, Richard was an unfortunate hybrid of Al Bundy and Archie Bunker. Just watered down and in a nicer package.)

Still, as a man who couldn't find it in himself to face the rest of the day, Will Darcy had come from work early that afternoon. And, upon swinging open the door, had thoroughly screamed his pants off.

Liam dropped his legos and Richard burst out of the armchair so quickly that he nearly knocked down the coffee table. Will gaped.

"What the hell are _you _doing here?" he demanded.

"It's _Tuesday_," Richard scowled. "Jesus, way to scare the kids. I think Chloe crapped herself."

A little six year old with blonde ringlets peered up, eyes saucer wide and bewildered.

Darcy contemplated the scene around him and said lamely, "You picked them up?"

"Did _you _want to?" asked Rich, misreading his question entirely. "I didn't know you would be home early. Let me know next time."

"No I just--I guess I forgot." His eyes darted to Liam, who was sprawled out on the hardwood floor, scribbling in a coloring book. "Liam, how was school?"

The boy looked up for half a second. "Good."

"Learn anything new?"

"No."

"...Cool."

Richard raised his eyebrows. "That's as introspective as it's gonna get, I hope you know that."

"Yeah," muttered Will. He dropped off his messenger bag by the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch, massaging his temples. "Sorry for losing it. I realize how odd my behavior's been looking for the past week, and I apologize if I've been standoffish or inconsiderate. It's pretty clear that you help us out a lot by watching Liam, and the last thing I should do is scream at you."

Richard laughed, "Aha, this is the one where Jerry drops his girlfriend's toothbrush in the toilet. Classic." He pointed at the television screen.

"What?"

His neighbor turned. "What? Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Forget it," Will snorted. He stood up and stretched. After awhile, he interrupted Richard: "Look, I'm really sorry, but I was kind of bent on watching something when I got home. Something important."

"No problem. Remote's yours."

"Um, it's not on cable. It's personal footage."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "_Personal footage_? What are we talking about here, a sex tape or something? There are children in the room, Darcy."

"_Ha_. No, just family videos." The lie came to him quickly then: "Lizzy wants me to convert VHS to DVD, so I have to see which ones are still in good condition."

"I'll watch with you."

"Isn't that a little invasive?"

"Yeah, but I'm already in your house."

Richard helped him carry over a stack of tapes from the study. Will selected a tape titled "_Liam Nathan Darcy: January 7, 2003_" and hoped to God he hadn't been stupid enough to capture footage of the actual childbirth. Suppressing a cringe, he popped it in and sat cautiously on the edge of the couch. Beside him, Liam continued scribbling and Chloe took up his abandoned legos.

A blue screen flashed away as Georgie's voice filled the room, giggly and excited. She narrated briefly and spanned out across a hospital room, littered with bouquets of flowers and blue themed baby balloons. "_Georgiana Darcy here, future Diane Sawyer, and first-time Auntie to one adorable, slightly premature Liam Nathan Darcy!_" The camera flickered across the room to where Fran Bennet delightfully cradled a little wriggling bundle whose face was hidden from the camera. Beside her, Jane Bennet's head was bent low as she cooed at her nephew, her red hair falling out of its braid.

"_And update on the new parents!_" The screen darted to the hospital bed. Will suddenly saw himself, a little younger and a little scragglier (loss of sleep was evident). He was laying on the bed, but leaning at the periphery. He grinned massively at the camera, and Georgie laughed at his happiness. Lizzy was curled up next to him, her head cushioned by his shoulder as his fingers laced with hers. Her hair was sprawled out and a little frizzy, and color had just started to work its way back into her cheeks. Who knew how many hours had passed.

"_How do you feel right now, Will?_" asked Georgie.

"_Happy._"

"Expressive, you are," grinned Richard.

"_Elaborate_," Georgie continued, right on cue.

Will laughed, "_I don't think there are enough words_._ I'm a dad, it's so surreal. And he smells like baby_."

"_As opposed to what, chimpanzee?_" suggested Jane with a laugh.

"_Anything else to share?_" giggled Georgie.

"_Um_," he glanced back at his wife and she stirred when she felt him staring at her. "_I kind of love this woman beyond any rational thought_." Will grinned and brushed his hand across her cheek and her eyes opened. Lizzy broke out into such a soft, secret smile that suddenly reminded Darcy why he had ever fallen in love with her in the first place.

"_Aw_," said Jane, only mildly sarcastic.

"_Yeah, you're not touching me again_," murmured Lizzy, laughing.

"_She's making me promise_," Will explained.

"_We'll see how _that _goes_," muttered his sister.

Fran Bennet was absolutely affronted: "Georgiana _Darcy_!"

"_My bad, Mrs. B_."

Darcy found his mouth quirking up as he watched the scene unfold. Georgiana continued to do some decidedly 'Georgie' things, like zoom-in on inanimate objects and stay there for fifteen seconds. And finally, the last fleeting still. Will was resting back on the bed with Lizzy, his arm around her waist. He was murmuring something into her hair and she giggled. And in that moment, despite the exhaustion and pallor, she seemed truly beautiful. Happy.

Until Georgie zoomed in on the dirt on the window pane and ruined the mood. Then the screen went fizzy with black and white.

A stretch of seconds passed where neither of the men said anything.

And then Richard added intelligently, "So, your sister can't film for shit."

"Yeah," Will murmured, distracted. He watched the screen where the images had been, replaying what he remembered.

It surprised him then, the bizarre feeling that wormed its way into his chest and filled him with a deep, palpable sadness. It was only later that he realized it was regret. Regret and loneliness. How could he have missed this?


	9. Manhã de Carnaval

**Nine**: _Manhã de Carnaval_

Alice Reese was exhausted.

It wasn't so much the kids. Because, come on, the Darcy children were friggin' adorable. Except for Liam; he was going through a Spiderman phase. Scaling the kitchen counter was _so_ not tolerable on a Saturday night without Advil.

The teenager sighed and slumped into the giant, black leather armchair. A _House_ rerun was on, but the boys were being too loud for her to hear the diagnosis. Her AP Psychology book was cracked open in her lap and she stared at it as if searching for something hidden in the gaps between sentences. Probably her social life.

Alice's eyes flickered to Sam, who was staring at the television screen. Was it _wrong_ to let a three year-old watch a lumbar puncture? She squirmed a little and hunted for the remote. Liam removed it from his pants.

"Oh, _Liam_!" Alice scowled, flinching back. "That's disgusting."

"I was keeping it warm for you."

"Ew."

The front door opened as Will Darcy arrived. He chucked his keys onto the front step and slung his bag over the banister. By the time he made it into the living room, he was already yanking off his tie.

"I _still_ hate ties," Darcy muttered to himself. "Massive change _there_, Jules."

Alice raised her eyebrows and he suddenly halted. "Hey," she gave an awkward wave.

He returned it, uncomfortable. "You're babysitting?"

"Uh-huh."

"Right," Will cleared his throat. He rocked on his heels a little and tried not to acknowledge how quiet the room had become.

"How's school?" Attempt #1.

"_Super_."

Fail.

Darcy strained a smile and hung up his jacket on the coat hook. Sam had toddled over and plunked down right near his keys, a Philadelphia Flyers keychain about two inches from entering his mouth.

"_No_," he reprimanded, and snatched them out of reach. Sam opened his mouth, filled his lungs with air and promptly began screeching.

"Oh, JM_J_," Alice winced.

Darcy scooped up the boy and rocked from side to side. "_What_?"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

"That's an _acronym_ now?" Will balked.

Sam was unreasonably upset, as little children often are after long days, and found it necessary to continue wailing until Will's ear drums committed suicide. Liam jerked him down and consoled him with a bag of Jelly Bellies.

Alice was staring at Will, bemused. _It's a good thing he's cute_.

"Hey, I heard screaming. First Will screw-up of the evening?" asked a voice breathlessly. Lizzy practically had slid into the foyer on her bare feet, heels snatched in one hand.

Darcy was in the middle of an eye roll (and armed with an insult) when he turned around and froze, mouth open.

Alice said it first with a giggle: "Man, I've seen you in paint splattered overalls too long. You clean up _good_."

Lizzy grinned, "Thanks hon – how are finals?"

"Um, kill me."

"That fun?"

Two kisses goodbye, one speedy change and an Emergency Calling List later, Darcy was on his way down the driveway when Lizzy stepped firmly in his path and announced that she was driving. He tilted his head and stared pensively.

First off, it was just unfair. Why did Lizzy decide to crawl out of a Botticelli painting _tonight_ – what with the spilling curls and the cute little smirk and wide green eyes and sleek black dress and complete lack of moccasins and/or bandanas…

_Yeah, God forbid you're attracted to your wife_, Jules's voice weaved into his mind like a loom: _How Twilight Zone is_ _that?_

Will cringed. Jules in brain. _Bad_ development.

"Well?" Lizzy outstretched her hand, "Keys, please."

He recovered: "I'd rather not. I mean, you already dented the Chrysler."

She looked over her shoulder at the minivan, now complete with one big, beautiful shiner on its right passenger side. Lizzy shrugged, "That wasn't my fault."

"So the mailbox went after _you_."

"Richard distracted me."

"That's a lie," Darcy laughed.

Lizzy narrowed her eyes and glanced down at his collar. She sighed and yanked him close, so that he nearly stumbled over his feet. "Honestly," she murmured, "can't you _ever_ get this right?" She began unknotting his tie.

"I hate ties," Will mumbled.

"Um _yeah_," Lizzy laughed. "So why even bother?"

He looked at her strangely: "You mean I don't like them?"

"You just _said_ so."

"Oh. Right," he fidgeted.

Lizzy dropped her hands and looked at him for a good few seconds. She opened her mouth to say something, thought against it, and stared up at him. "You're nervous."

Will met her eye. How true. The engagement party had been grating on his mind since Georgie had first shoved the invitation in his face and tiptoed around it at Così. The Bingleys. The Bingleys in _this_ lifetime. It was enough to make his mind reel. Now it was all happening tonight.

He watched Lizzy's face and was reminded of the girl in the video, the girl a version of himself had cradled. Will felt a ping of guilt and opened his mouth.

"You can drive," Elizabeth murmured. "It's getting late." She turned around and opened the passenger door.

* * *

It took two hours to get into the city. Gas stops were needed ("You dent _one_ car and leave the other on empty?" "I'm a woman of many talents"). But still. Point A to B was accomplished.

Of course, Charlie _had_ to book the trendy restaurant in its near entirety. Will started chuckling until Lizzy rolled her eyes and shoved him through the doors. There was a throng of people waiting to get in, but Elizabeth saw Mary first and practically leaped, dragging Darcy with her.

The middle Bennet was at the bar, champagne flute in hand. She was wearing neon green skinny jeans with a black blazer, and her dark hair had been hacked into a pixie cut. Darcy gaped. She had been a freshman in high school the last time he saw her. Bookish and prone to wearing sweats. And now, Mary was an "artsy wannabe hipster", as Lizzy so eloquently put it. Vaguely, he wondered if she still played the piano. And still sucked at it.

"Oh look, it's the Jersey Bumpkins," Mary smiled tersely, kissing her sister's cheek. "How are the neighbors?"

"We're not hicks, you dumbass," sighed Lizzy, stealing a sip from her glass. "Where's Jane?"

"Sunshine Girl?" Mary shrugged, adjusting her shades. "Who knows. _Oh!_" Her face brightened, as she put her hand on the shoulder of the man beside her. He turned around slowly, and Darcy saw he wore matching thick frames and a knit red cap. "This is my boyfriend, _Terrence_. He's a film student. At NYU."

"Neat," managed Darcy. Terrence's face was expressionless.

"I'm Elizabeth," Lizzy took his hand. "I would say I've heard all about you, but this one doesn't bother calling."

"I like distant relations."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. Lizzy, however, made it a point to set down her drink and thwack her sister upside the head: "Grow up, Mary. And take off the damn Ray Bans. We're inside, for God's sake."

As they walked towards their end of the restaurant, Will laughed and touched her arm, "Yeah, so what happened to the meek little girl struggling through scales?"

Lizzy smirked, "Oh, she's in there somewhere. At least she's no Lydia."

"Christ, I forgot about _her_."

"I wish I were so lucky," mumbled Elizabeth. "At least Lyddie's not home for a couple weeks."

They stopped walking. There they were, in the center of the room: The Golden Couple. And it all looked _so_ disturbingly natural that Will was rooted to the spot for a few moments. Jane, lovely as ever, skirted across the room and swept her sister into a hug. And she dragged her fiancé with her.

Charlie was the only thing familiar from Will's old life. Same wide, carefree smile. Ruffled blond hair and affinity for button-ups. He had already spilled a smidge of mustard on his collar, but the stain was wet. Jane had probably rubbed it out with seltzer.

"_Will_!" Lizzy was laughing, gesturing for him to come up. He stepped forward obediently and readied himself for the complete lack of recognition on Charlie's face. And ah, there it was.

"Nice to meet you," Bingley smiled, extending a hand. Friendly and totally unassuming. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Same here," Darcy cleared his throat. "Congratulations."

Jane grinned, "Thanks, Will."

"I just met your sister, Georgie," Charlie told him. "She's very sweet. You guys look alike."

Darcy didn't know what to say, but he did try to smile.

"Actually, my own sister's lurking around here somewhere. Let me go get her," Charlie smiled. "Excuse me."

"Caroline's _very_ nice," promised Jane, watching as her fiancé left the room. "She's very poised."

"I need a drink," muttered Will suddenly, searching for a waiter.

Charlie joined them a few minutes later with an apologetic look: "Carrie's on the phone, but she promised to come over in a few before we start dinner."

"That's fine," Jane said, handing him a glass. "We got you something."

Charlie snorted, "_Aw_, Jack Daniels on the rocks, three fingers? You know my favorite drink already."

"Actually, Will ordered for you," she corrected.

"Hunch," muttered Darcy.

"Good call," said Bingley, only mildly weirded out. Lizzy's eyes darted toward Will, who was staring down into his glass.

It was eight in the evening before guests crowded the entire third of the restaurant. It was a slew of friends and family, mostly from Charlie's side (even though his parents were away in Cannes.) Still, Will found himself drawing inward, watching Charlie from a distance. There was such a pull to just run up to him and spill _everything_. Every simple, little, insignificant and significant thing that had happened to him in the last two weeks.

So, it had been a complete failure outside of Bingley's apartment.

_At least he doesn't recognize my voice_.

Darcy wandered off and eventually met Caroline Bingley outside. He had only wanted air, and there she was, chatting into her Blackberry, the exact same Carrie who had sat on his desk fourteen days ago. _That_ felt weird. Almost creepy.

Not that he could help _staring_; it was just a bizarre circumstance. She took this for leering and promptly ended her call. "_What_ are you looking at?" Carrie demanded. Her blue eyes looked faint in the light, and smaller.

Darcy paused, "I have the same phone as you." _Funny, I'm getting _really_ good at impulse lies. _He smiled a little and took a sip of his wine.

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped. She seemed to rethink her earlier bite and gave him a casual once-over. The bitchiness evaporated a little and she asked, "Have we met?"

"No," he had to laugh at the irony. "We were supposed to."

"Right," Carrie rolled her eyes, "you're with _Jane's_ family."

"Yeah. Will Darcy."

"Caroline Bingley."

There was a lengthy pause and Darcy leaned against the railing, looking down at the street busy with traffic. Carrie was still watching him. For a split second, he wondered if something about him was familiar to her. But when he looked back up, he didn't see recognition on her face. Just mild interest in someone of the opposite sex.

"You know," drawled Carrie casually, leaning out against the railing, "you seem pretty normal compared to the rest of them. Distant cousin?"

"In-law," Will murmured.

"Sucks for _you_," she sighed. "And me, pretty soon."

Darcy raised his eyebrows. Had she been this pretentious?

"I was _supposed_ to meet my sister here," Carrie's complaint continued, "but she's still in Los Angeles, so fuck my life."

"Your brother's looking for you inside."

"_Swell_," Carrie chirped sarcastically. She snapped her clutch shut and opened the door, peering past her shoulder at him. "Come in with me. It's Darcy, right?"

He snorted and followed her in silence.

The restaurant was some obscure mix between a club and a fine dining establishment. It was a little mashed up, but somehow, it worked. Will spotted Jane and Charlie dancing by the live band. She was laughing at something he had said. And Charlie, bless his heart, Charlie was looking at the eldest Bennet with such tenderness that it was almost _too_ adorable. He twirled her and grinned, pausing to give her a kiss.

The Hallmark moment seemed to have carefully edged around Caroline, because all she did was sniff and announce that the music was "sickeningly retro". Will watched her observe Lizzy's family from a distance; she laughed and told him directly that, "Momma Bennet is the loudest, most obnoxious old bat _in_ this place. Muzzle, please."

"That's sweet," deadpanned Darcy. He took a long sip from his glass and sighed.

He must have missed her before, but Darcy suddenly spotted Elizabeth with the band. She was saying something to the bassist; she pressed a slip of paper into his hand. The musician grinned and tipped his hat, a fedora, which Lizzy promptly took and tried on just for kicks. Will grinned.

"You want to dance?" Carrie's voice pierced his reverie. She was faintly interested. When Will glanced over, her smile was a combination of flaky and flirtatious.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Rain check," Will smiled. He handed Carrie his glass and crossed the dance floor, well aware of her eyes boring into his back.

He found Lizzy talking with her father and Georgie, the latter of which bowed graciously to him when he appeared: "Greetings, Sir. Thank you for gracing us with your presence."

Darcy rolled his eyes and ruffled Georgie's hair, and she scowled and pulled away.

John smiled warmly, "Always the social lurker, Will."

"He can't help it," amended Lizzy with a smirk. She avoided his eyes.

"Do you guys mind if I steal Elizabeth away for a dance?" asked Darcy politely. "If her dance card isn't full, that is."

"What is this, 1890?" snorted Georgie. Lizzy smiled.

"Whisk her away, she's been bored for too long," John encouraged. "Only bad things can come of that."

"Thanks, Dad," she said dryly.

"Welcome."

He led her away just as the last song ended and a slower one began.

"Hey there, Kevin Bacon," said Lizzy lightly. He settled a hand at her waist and raised an eyebrow at the joke. "_Invisible Man_," she explained. "Wow, does nobody besides Rich get my movie references?"

"You're in a league of your own," quipped Darcy.

"Oh, _good_ one."

He laughed and she stared at him squarely.

"Sorry I've been MIA all night," he murmured. "I'm not so good with the crowds of strangers."

"No shit. Like that's changed since college."

Darcy argued, "What? I was social in college."

"You were _shy_," Lizzy laughed, "so shy, in fact, that our entire floor thought you were the resident asshole for two years."

"Even you?" he snorted.

"Yep," Lizzy said, narrowing her green eyes. "Until you helped me with my locked-out-of-dorm situation and gave me your shirt. Then I was kind of like, _Oh hey, he's not really a dick. Look at that_."

"Thanks."

"People usually draw wrong conclusions from the quiet ones," Lizzy explained with a smile. "When you're outspoken, it makes things a little easier."

"Unless you intimidate people," added Darcy.

"Did I intimidate _you_?" she asked sweetly.

"A little. But it was sort of endearing."

"Mr. Darcy, I'm blushing."

He smiled and she returned it slowly. Conversationally, Lizzy added, "I see you met the She-Bingley."

"Carrie?" asked Will. He looked over his shoulder but she was long gone. "Yeah. She's okay."

"I heard she's a bitch."

"Well, that too."

"_Nice_," Lizzy laughed. "I think she was flirting with you back there. It was pretty funny."

"You find that funny?" Will balked.

"I had myself a hearty chuckle."

Darcy couldn't hold back a laugh. It was his mistake; leave it to Lizzy to have an atypical reaction. Then again, he had absolutely no ties with Caroline Bingley in this life. The idea of them together even seemed ludicrous here. _Which means what exactly?_ he thought to himself. A part of him snarked back: _That you have zero compatibility, you dated out of convenience, and you were tired of turning her down_.

All of which he had already known, but seemed a little uglier in the light of this new reality.

Lizzy was humming along to the melody of the song (which Darcy eventually recognized as "Manha de Carnaval"); her eyes closed and Darcy pulled her in a little closer. She smiled.

Such a lovely improvement a glass and a half of wine could make. Elizabeth had been tight-lipped all week, and he suspected it was to avoid confrontation. In fact, Will had been suspecting the emotional equivalent of Mount Vesuvius one of these days. It was a good thing that Jane and Charlie's engagement party had interfered. _Or maybe she just doesn't want to lose you_.

Will closed his eyes. As they danced, he imagined what it would be like to have truly chosen this path. To be dancing here with her with full familiarity. Lizzy linked her hands around his neck and murmured in a soothing voice. "_I'll sing as I play my guitar, I'll cling to a dream from afar…_" She laughed, "Damn, I forgot the translation."

"I'm sorry," Darcy said, abrupt.

Lizzy opened her eyes.

"I didn't mean to do this to you," he murmured. "I know I've been like a stranger all week. And it took me forever to realize how much that must have hurt. And I'm sorry." She was silent, and Darcy continued earnestly, blue eyes downcast: "I don't want to fight this life anymore, you know? I could be happy. _Really_ happy. I've just been stubborn and bitter. But I could adjust to things, right? I _have_ been adjusting."

"Yeah," said Lizzy softly.

He swallowed hard and she took in the regret and anxiety in his eyes. She rested her hands on both sides of Will's face and he exhaled.

"It's going to be okay," she murmured.

Will nodded. He closed his eyes and dropped his head until his cheek was against hers. Lizzy smiled, and he pressed a kiss into her hair.


	10. Jules, the Puppeteer

**Ten**: _Jules, the Puppeteer_

At precisely three o'clock every afternoon, Edith Reed dug out her ancient stereo from 1987 and slipped in a _My Fair Lady_ cassette; the goal was to play "I Could Have Danced All Night" as many times as it would take before a customer complained. Fortunately (or rather unfortunately for management) that Monday was too dreary for bookstore traffic. So the song looped and looped until George Wickham threatened to hang himself by his shoelaces.

"This, young man, is a _classic_," simpered Edie. "Did you know I played Eliza Doolittle in my high school production?"

"When was that, the prehistoric era?" Wickham muttered to Kate, who tittered.

Edie pursed her lips and defiantly cranked up the volume.

Somewhere in the middle of the Children's Section, Will Darcy half smiled. He had been hiding out for an hour now, under the impermeable excuse of shelfing. In reality, he found sitting there kind of comforting. Cross-legged on the floor, his back up against the shelves, the smell of new books and dust filled his nostrils. A volume of fairy tales was cracked open in his lap, a polished leather bound copy he considered bringing home to Sam and Liam. He turned a page and glanced up.

"Excuse me," Will heard a muffled female voice in the next aisle over. Carp's voice offered assistance and a lyrical little giggle answered, followed by: "Oh, _thanks_. I've been looking in the Classics section for what has to be ten minutes, I can't find Milton's _Paradise Lost_ anywhere."

A laugh, "You're a fan of epic poetry?"

"Only on Mondays."

There was a long, pregnant pause. Probably Carp scouring the shelves for the alphabetical label. Darcy knew the assumption was right when he heard his colleague apologize; Carp left her to check the book's listing in the inventory database at the front of the shop.

Will sighed. He got to his feet and peered over into the next aisle. "Hi, Jules."

She swiveled around on her heels and beamed. Darcy smirked. Jules was something out of film noir. She wore a bright red trenchcoat and a silk violet scarf, her pale hair done up in pin curls. Of course, the look wasn't complete without giant black Hepburn shades and polished heels. He half expected her to draw a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and blow a ring of smoke into his face.

"Isn't it too early for Halloween?" Will jibed.

Jules rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Don't mock my creative splendor, it isn't polite." She tilted her head, "When did you know it was me?"

"Oh, halfway between the girly laugh and the _Paradise Lost _reference." Darcy's eyebrow arched at that, "That's so clichéd, even for you."

"Yes, but _all_ those fallen angels," Jules's smile was secretive, "it's so tempting." At his eyeroll, she laughed at her own morbidity and leaned gingerly against the shelves. She watched him as she said, "You know, that other guy is pretty cute. His nameplate says James, but I could swear I've heard otherwise."

"Carp," Will amended, folding his arms. "James Carpino. Please don't prey on my would-be friends."

"I wouldn't dream of it," assured Jules in a sugary voice. Her smile was mildly disconcerting and Darcy flashed her a warning look. She laughed, "Don't worry, he's actually taken. Got a daughter at home and everything, betchya didn't know that? Besides, I usually go after musicians. You should have seen me in '66."

"_19_66?" asked Will skeptically.

"I've always had a small thing for George Harrison," Jules sighed. "JFK, Philadelphia. August 16th, 1966. We met backstage. It was lovely."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"It's of no consequence to _me_ what you believe," she snorted, leafing through an Austen novel. "I've had my share of fun decades. Then again, everything was a little more tame after that stint with John Dillinger in '34," Jules muttered, closing the novel. "That was all shades of wild. Never again."

Will had opened his mouth but Carp popped into the aisle. "I'm sorry, we had a super old collection of volumes but it's recently been sold. I can order it for you if you wish. It should be available by Thursday evening, at the very earliest."

"Thank you," Jules smiled. "Everyone's so helpful here. I should bake ya'll some cookies."

"Not the fucking cookies," Will muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

Carp looked puzzled. "Do you know each other?"

"Oh, intimately," Jules thread her arm through Darcy's. "We're very old friends. Cousins, in fact."

"You don't look like family."

"Second cousin twice removed. From my mother's side. We go way back. Amish ancestry, even."

Will was glowering at her openly. "Will never told me he was Amish," said Carp, all astonishment.

"Really?" Jules gasped, "Goodness _me_, I should show you our family crest! It's actually in my wallet, wait one moment. I _adore_ the colors. It's like an acid trip."

She opened her handbag and Will quickly snatched it. "That isn't necessary, Jules," he forced a laugh, "thanks."

"_James!_" Edith's voice snaked into the aisle. "Kate and I need help with the computer. What does _hard drive crash _refer to?"

"Shit," Carp swore. He excused himself and Will sighed with exasperation, handing Jules back her bag. She thanked him and smiled.

"What are you trying to do, intentionally make things harder for me?"

"Just adding some concrete background for your peers, Willie."

"_Amish_?"

"I love the Amish."

Just then the front bell rang and Darcy peered around the corner. Lizzy entered and wiped her shoes on the carpet, grinning across the foyer at Edith and Kate. She brushed a curl out of her eyes and laughed when Edie embraced her; Will smiled, watching.

"_Ah_," cooed Jules. "Look-see. What an interesting development."

"I don't know what you mean," he mumbled over his shoulder.

"Of course not," she smiled warmly.

Lizzy asked the two women if they had seen Will but both shrugged and offered her coffee. She hopped up on the back counter and kicked her feet, a mannerism Darcy remembered. Kate handed her a mug and disappeared into the back room to help Carp fix the computer glitch. Edie lingered to ask her about her weekend, and the two started a conversation about Mr. Reed, and how Edith had visited his grave and brought him lilacs that past Saturday morning.

Will was about to make his presence known but he suddenly stopped in his tracks when he saw George Wickham greet Lizzy warmly. He kissed her cheek and hugged her and Darcy tilted his head in confusion.

"How are you?" asked Wickham, setting down a filthy rag. He hadn't even been washing anything. "Ditching class and looking for detention?" he teased.

"_Hardy har har_," Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Class let out early. What about you? Hard at work?" she fingered the rag.

"Oh, you know. Everything needs scrubbing once in awhile. It seems I'm the only man willing around here," he smiled charmingly, taking a seat at her side. Lizzy smirked and Wickham tried to dab her with the cloth before she laughed and ducked out of the way. "Damn. You're eluding me once again, Miss Lizzy," Wickham grinned.

Darcy turned to Jules with his mouth slightly open. "Is he," a pause, "is he _flirting_ with her?"

Jules had her lips pursed, but he suspected this was to stifle back laughter. When Will turned back, Wickham and Lizzy were already deep in conversation.

"It's hard," Wickham continued, staring down at his shoes. "My other job is so thankless. I'm making _such_ good use of my Art History degree," he said bitterly. "I feel like such a failure. Especially because my father warned me it would be a waste. Passion over practicality, he always said. Maybe Dad was right to toss me out."

"_No_," Lizzy assured him, taking his hand. She shook her head, "Don't say that. You just have to keep hunting for jobs. It's tough out there. Who can blame you?"

Wickham shrugged his shoulders feebly. "No, I'm to blame. I should stop pinning the faults on my parents. I know Dad was an alcoholic, but still. I'm probably no better if I can't make a substantial enough future for myself."

"Hey," murmured Lizzy, tilting his chin up. "You're a _good_ guy. Have some faith and perseverance. If the others see you breaking down like this, they'll throw you to the wolves. Well, the back room, but it's musty in there and you don't want it. Trust me," she laughed.

Wickham nodded and cracked a smile. "Thanks, Lizzy," he squeezed her hand.

She smiled back, "Anytime, George."

"Darcy's very lucky to have a girl like you," Wickham murmured.

"_Right_—"

"I mean it," his voice grew softer. George's lips spread into a smile, "I think I've been jealous for a little while."

Darcy's head snapped up. He turned back to Jules and demanded, "Are you _serious_?"

"Um, _so_," admitted the girl with a wince, "the man's wanted your wife for a few months. Hate to say it." Jules sighed and steadied her hands on his shoulders, "Fact #1: Wickham's father was a horticulturist and he was sober as a brick. Fact #2: George wasn't _tossed_ out so much as accepted into a university two states away from home. Fact #3: He hasn't been looking for another job. And, my favorite, Fact #4: Wickham has a thing for married young women. Yours being pretty fucking adorable _probably_ doesn't help your situation."

"You're telling me this _now_," he blurted, "Jules, what were you thinking?"

"I didn't want to say _everything_. It's always been a little obvious. Lizzy's actually suspected a tiny infatuation for awhile, but the fact is that she's way too sympathetic to tell him to fuck off. Indifference and friendly conduct is her failed method of her choice."

"This is ridiculous. I can't _believe_ you—"

"Oh!" Jules sniffed theatrically, "smell that? Good _God_, that's potent. I smell a sprig of _jealousy_."

Will's mouth closed. "That's not—Don't _misinterpret_, I just—"

"You don't have to deny it for the sake of your pride. I know it just _kills_ you when I'm right. I did say two weeks until you're smitten, didn't I?" she grinned. "_Pitter patter _of the nostalgic heart, Will?"

"_No_, I'm just trying to be _reasonable_ because it's the only way to _cope _with this mess you've stuck me in the _middle_ of—"

"Wow, I think I can see the horseshit coming out of your ears, should I go get a bucket?"

"I'm _not_—" Will stammered.

"I _dare_ you not to interrupt George Wickham," Jules's eyes flashed.

Darcy glowered. He squared his shoulders and folded his arms stubbornly. "_Fine_." Jules smiled, delighted, and positioned him to face the front of the store, where Wickham was getting Lizzy another cup of coffee despite her protests. George steadied it into her hands and she gave him a small, uncomfortable smile while Wickham took up his seat next to her. He watched her as she sipped from her mug; Elizabeth darted her eyes to him and back and cleared her throat.

"You know," Jules's breath fanned out just behind Will, "the guy _is_ pretty handsome. Look at that strong jaw, those dark _deep_ eyes. He's only a couple years younger than Lizzy. Ever read Kate Chopin,_ The Storm_? It's _rife_ with stifled passion, stolen kisses, secrets."

"You're just trying to provoke me."

"Is it working?"

"…No."

"You paused," grinned Jules.

Lizzy got up slowly off of the counter and thanked the young man for the coffee, awkward and discomfited. Wickham smiled and mumbled something Darcy didn't hear. Then he brushed a curl out of her face and tucked it slowly behind Elizabeth's ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. "Seriously," George shook his head, "I _still_ can't understand why you settled for an asshole like Will Darcy."

This, Will _did_ hear. He couldn't really account for his emotions then. But the facts were these: one moment, Will had stood, obstinate, beside Jules. And the next, his fist connected with George Wickham's jaw with a _crack_.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Giggle.

I love me some fistfights. Fight Club, I thank you.

This chapter's not very plot significant, _fine_. It's a character study. Or maybe I just sickly enjoy Jules tormenting Will. And angsty almost-romance. And rash, testosterone driven reactions. I feel like all Austen was missing from her books was some good, clean _man-on-man_ thrashing. I'll admit it, I'm a little sick. I like my hookups with a dash of violence. Just saying.

Oh! (Emma Note! Ye be warned:) I love Emma, I haven't abandoned _Red Light_, I promise. It's just that that story isn't nearly as charted out as this one. And I have a tiny ounce of writer's block that will probably pass after November when my creativity isn't so constipated from college applications.

Hey, brownie points to whoever gets the tiny _Pushing Daisies_ reference. I miss Lee Pace like a mother. Thanks!


	11. Saints Into the Sea

**Eleven**: _Saints into the Sea_

Two things might have been overlooked.

#1: The rebound effect of jealousy.

#2: George Wickham's black belt in Tae Kwon Do.

It took about seven and a half minutes before the lights came into focus and sensation returned to the left side of his face. Darcy winced. Lizzy was hovering above him, her hands cool on his cheeks. It occurred to Darcy that she was calling his name, but a dull ringing filled his head like sand instead.

"I can't swallow," Will murmured casually. "Is that bad?"

Carp handed Lizzy a frozen pack of peas and she pressed it gently against Darcy's forehead, reeling out commands: "The broom is in the supply closet, James, tell Kate to take care of the broken glass. Make sure she doesn't cut herself. That entire cabinet might have to be thrown out, too. Oh, and tell Edie to close shop for a little while; we need to time to sort out this mess. And the front counter is just a disaster."

"And what about Wickham?" Carp cleared his throat.

"What _about_ Wickham, James?" Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. "Shove him into a cab and send him home. I don't want to fucking deal with him right now. At least not until tomorrow morning, depending on his job availability."

"Righto. I'm on it." The door clicked shut behind him. At the noise, Darcy stirred and took in his surroundings. He couldn't remember being dragged into the back room. He also couldn't remember ever being in a fistfight. Well, not since Kevin Gibbs stole his retainer in the seventh grade. _Did I win that one?_ Will chewed on his lower lip in thought. _No. The little shit sucker punched me. I fail at life._

Lizzy turned back to find her victim staring off into space. She shoved his shoulder and Darcy drew back with a grimace, "_Ow_. Goddamn, Lizzy. Man _down_."

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded, green eyes glittering. "_Enlighten_ me, for God's sake."

"I wasn't thinking," Darcy mumbled, sore. "I was reacting."

"No _shit_ you weren't thinking," Lizzy glared. She adjusted the pack for him and touched his forehead tenderly. "This looks pretty bad," she muttered, her fingers grazing over his skin. "George is a pretty strong guy, Will, he kind of handed your ass over—"

"Yeah, okay, I _get_ it," Darcy spoke heatedly, "that explains the state of my internal organs right now. He's superhuman and _I_ lost to Kevin Gibbs during recess."

"_What?_"

"It's not important."

Darcy watched Lizzy rifled through a First Aid kit. She cleaned the scrape on his forehead with a cotton pad. In the process, pieces of hair kept falling out of her ponytail and into her face and she kept tucking them back in frustration, practically huffing. This was the moment that Will chose to ask, very cautiously, "Is there anything going on between you and George Wickham?"

Her blank stare was frustrating, and the breezy tone in which she spoke in all the more infuriating: "You're an idiot."

"I'm serious," he insisted.

"You're _stupid_, actually. Tell me if this hurts," she touched his head.

"It _hurts_."

"Suck it up."

Darcy scowled and propped himself up on his elbows, fixing her with a cold stare. And then the words tumbled out of him like word vomit: "I don't understand how you could let him _speak_ to you that way. It's like you're _encouraging_ him. Is that really who you would go after? _Ser_iously? If you think George _Wickham_ is such a catch, with his suburban tragic past and fucking Jet _Li_ shit going on, then by all means, skip off into a sunset, go to Paris, buy a timeshare and make _babies_—"

Her hand suddenly clamped over his mouth and Will blinked up at her, startled.

Lizzy looked amused when she leaned in very close and said very calmly, "Hi there. I'm going to try to prevent you from making a comment right now that insults my morals, intelligence and values. Because we all know that you do _not_ want to sleep on the couch tonight. That's where Sage camps out and she will _kill_ you in your sleep and hide the evidence in her litter box."

Will mumbled into her palm and she continued on. "Now," Lizzy smiled, eyes bright, "as long as I have your attention, I'm going to use it to tell you that you're a shithead for all the assumptions you've just pulled out of your ass. I haven't let Wickham do _anything_. And as it just so happens, Mike Tyson, I was about to _educate_ the man on the proprieties of employee conduct before you had your golden moment of failed testosterone glory in which you smashed George into the cash register."

Darcy's lips moved against her hand in unheard protest.

"_No_, I'm not gonna include the kidney punch because that wasn't fair game."

He rolled his eyes.

"So," said his wife, "if we're clear, I'd be _happy_ to let you talk again as long as you spare me your accusations made of bullshit. We've been together since the Stone Age; if there were somebody else, I would have run off years ago. But as it goes, for all your bitching and mood swings, I love _you_. Are we cool?"

Darcy searched her face and hesitated. He remembered to nod.

She released her hand and sat back on her heels, drawing her unruly curls back into a loose bun. Darcy sat up and watched her, his jaw slack and his expression puzzled—diffident, at best. When Lizzy finally sensed his attentions, her head jerked up, at the ready to reprimand his behavior for a second time.

But as it were, Darcy was so taken with Lizzy at that exact moment that he leaned forward, cupped her cheek and kissed her. He hadn't kissed Elizabeth Bennet in years. And something about her mouth brushing against his, the way her arms folded delicately around his neck, her skin warm against his touch…

_You've been a fool_.

Her small hands crept to his chest and Lizzy suddenly shoved him back, green eyes skeptical. "I'm not stupid. You can't take a couple weeks of being cold, add in a violent misdemeanor and expect it to go away just because you kiss pretty well."

Will looked at her mouth again, "That's probably true."

"_Yeah_, it is."

Both were silent. Edith could be heard, voice muffled, hollering out directions and moving furniture. There was a thump. Probably Carp and Katie trudging the cabinets over. The splintered cabinets, because, well, Darcy had had to land into _something_.

Lizzy looked down and bit her lip, and Will tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers flitted by her cheek, her neck, her hair…

"Okay, fine."

Will grinned and pulled her close again (Lizzy laughing) as they sunk back to the floor…

* * *

**Author's Note: **This is half of my original update, but it felt too clunky and this bit pretty much stands on its own two feet. It's a sweet shortie to tide you over. (: Plot, was ist das? All the best, you guys. Thanks for the lovely feedback.


	12. Core Four

**Author's Note**: This chapter did not want to be written. If I could give you a visual, I'd ask you to picture that scene in _Harry Potter_ where Dumbledore slowly and agonizingly draws out that silver memory from his brain to put into the pensieve. That was me for a couple of weeks. Tugging, tugging, tugging. _Ow_.

* * *

**Twelve**: _Core Four_

Lydia Suzanne Bennet had a knack for making appearances during inopportune moments. And, as it just so happened, the entire month of _July_ was a moment that could have fared well without interruption. Three days following Independence Day, the girl tore into her sister's house, kicked off her cowboy boots and plucked down into an armchair before a bewildered Sam Darcy, who had been three fourths of the way through a Lego masterpiece.

Darcy figured it was a little karmic. The last couple of weeks had been remarkably kind to him. Despite the mild devastation of furniture at Bennet Booksellers, the fiasco had resulted in Wickham's sacking. Also an indulgent trip to Ikea before Carp lost patience with complicated Swedish assembly manuals. But perhaps even more importantly, it had forced Will to understand the _roots_ of his own jealousy and consequential ass-kicking.

And he had been in the midst of exploring such tumultuous feelings before his youngest sister-in-law launched in and uprooted their Jersey home like Dorothy's fresh out of Kansas.

"What do you _mean _she took my car keys?" demanded Elizabeth, sliding into the kitchen on her stocking feet. She was scheduled that morning as a guest speaker for the opening of a new exhibit at the PMA. And now minus one fully gassed up Honda. Lizzy whirled, coffee sloshing out of her Smokey the Bear mug: "I have to be downtown in an _hour_, Will. An hour! Where the motherfudge is that fudging girl?"

Darcy winced, "Starbucks."

If possible, Lizzy's eyes smoldered. "I'm going to throttle the living seamonkeys out of her. Literally, _kick _her apple in."

The Orbit censorship was necessary, and Liam looked up from his coloring book and giggled. "Seamonkeys."

"For the record, I think there are many people whose _apples _we'd like to kick in," Will smiled over the rim of his cup. "But I wouldn't suggest physically beating your sister in front of the boys. It doesn't exactly encourage sibling affection." He removed the soggy filter from the coffee machine as Lizzy washed out the pot.

"You have to know," she said nostalgically, "the only way to get by in the Bennet household growing up was to beat your sisters. With Barbie Dolls, lightsabers and occasionally loaves of bread. It usually depended on what was at hand at the time."

Darcy opened his mouth to respond but thought the better of it. From the kitchen table, Sam flung a Cheerio at him for sympathy. Then he gurgled and slammed his fists.

"A bona fide Ringo Starr you got there," a flowery voice said, and Lydia skipped into the room and dumped her messenger bag on the counter. She tossed the keys to Elizabeth, who caught them indignantly, nostrils flaring. Not that her baby sister was very observant. "Hiya, Will," Lydia grinned, mussing her brother-in-law's hair before she took a seat next to Sam and nabbed some Cheerios.

Lizzy's voice was tight and controlled. "I don't believe _anybody _gave you permission to take my car."

The younger girl arched an eyebrow. "It took me fifteen minutes, Lizzy, State Street and back."

"Regardless. It's not yours to take on a whim. You're camping out here, you follow _our _rules."

"That a fact?" Lydia munched thoughtfully. She was in the process of twisting her strawberry blonde hair into a sloppy chignon. "Well, it's not _my _house. Not my problem."

"Sorry," Elizabeth grinned without mirth, "_who _it is that's harboring your little fired butt right now between jobs? Oh, that's right. _Me_. Funny. Maybe Mom and Dad should take you in instead. I'm sure they'd love to find out that you got fired from Sacred Grace for coming onto the entire medical staff."

"One anesthesiologist, _God_." Lydia's hands dropped into her lap, "And how was I supposed to know it was against job protocol? I'm an affectionate girl by nature."

"Understatement," Darcy muttered. A Cheerio hit his temple.

Lizzy sighed and snatched her purse from the counter. "Whatever, I'm out. Take care."

"Oh!" Lydia wheeled around on her stool, her brown eyes wide and watchful. "Um, about the Honda."

"What _about_ the Honda?"

"It uh, has a flat."

Elizabeth's knuckles shone white as she closed her eyes and waited. Darcy sensed she was counting backward from ten. Or imagining puppies. Either way, furry creatures were soon replaced by fiery wrath and Lizzy looked just about ready to snatch a silver platter from the kitchen cabinet and whirl it like a frisbee at Lydia's head when Darcy jumped out of his seat and steadied the blazing eyed woman in the center of the room.

"I'll drive you. We'll take the van and deal with the other car later. I know you're late."

Lizzy's mouth opened helplessly.

"Yeah, I can take one of the boys."

And so it was decided. Liam was left to his aunt's care (which really extended no farther than reheated mac and cheese and a _Phineas and Ferb_ marathon) as Darcy wheeled his wife and youngest child out of the house. Because Fridays during the summertime are just empty days begging for a field trip.

* * *

The exhibit opening had lasted two hours, thirty minutes of which Darcy had actually braved, before contemporary paintings made him want to stun gun himself. He took Sam a couple blocks down, where they pretended to window shop and bought hot pretzels from a street vendor. A little after two, they settled at an Au Bon Pain, where Sam destroyed two pouches of apple juice while engaging in competitive people watching. Will found the toddler creeping a little too amusing.

"Sammo," he ruffled the boy's light hair. Sam turned and grinned. The kid's eyes were remarkable. Green and wide.

"Juice," Sam burped, killing the moment.

"I can see that," smirked Darcy. He waited, watching him as he tried to knot his straw. A few minutes later, Sam pleaded to use the bathroom for the third time since they had sat down. Will sighed and scooped him out of his seat, curving around two other tables.

"Will?"

Charles Bingley was halfway out of his seat, a napkin tucked into the collar of his blue shirt. He blushed at this realization and quickly removed it, laughing. "Oops."

"Charlie," Darcy smiled, amazed at his own ease. He extended a hand, "Nice to see you again."

"You too. Is this your son?"

"The youngest, yes. Meet Sam."

"Hey buddy," Charlie bent low, smile wide. Sam shrunk back distrustfully, hugging his father around the neck. "He's shy," Will explained. "And angered by pinstriped shirts."

Charlie grinned, taking the joke. "Wow, he looks just like Elizabeth. Eyes and everything. Any part of him yours?"

"The antisocial factor, probably," Darcy smirked. He looked back to Charlie's table, where a man was bent over an open portfolio, scribbling something quickly. A calculator lay near his elbow, balancing off the edge of the table. "Lunch with a client?" Will guessed, shifting his weight on another leg to support Sam. "I don't want to interrupt."

"Oh no," Charlie turned. "Don't worry about it. It's just my boss. We thought we'd grab a quick bite before our meeting. Jay?"

Jay Reynolds himself looked upward, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Will blinked, startled at the sight of his old mentor. He hadn't changed at all. Same slicked back gray hair and shrewd bright eyes. Also, a shockingly violet tie that Martha, his secretary, had probably picked out for him that morning following an unfortunate coffee spill. It was written all over the situation.

"Will Darcy, this is Jay Reynolds. And you know, vice versa. Get acquainted."

"You're a natural at introductions, Bingley," Jay smiled wryly. He nodded at Will, "Pleasure."

"The little man is Sam," Charlie explained, dragging another chair towards their table. "Join us, Will?"

"Oh," Darcy faltered. He glanced at the door and at his watch quickly. Lizzy would be meeting them soon. "I," he paused, "yeah, sure. Just give me a second. Sam's about to have a sprinkler effect going on soon if I don't get him to a toilet and fast."

"Don't want _that_," muttered Jay. "Off you go."

A quick bathroom run and three espressos later, Will Darcy was completely at ease in the company of two men he had once worked with. Charts were being passed around, deadlines discussed and Jay sat, chewing on one end of his glasses and staring at the young father with quiet fascination. _Where the hell did he come from? _He piled his papers together and listened. Will had just finished telling them why he preferred the work of one branch of the company to another.

"Personally, I always thought Yossa's department was a little unbalanced," Darcy was saying. "You've got all your conservative, by-the-book thinkers dominating, which leaves people like Charlie here and say, Richard Forrester, drowning with their ideas. A lot of younger people pull all-nighters to make this merger complete, and all the seasoned veterans get the credit for formulaic approaches. If you fellas remember the Bristol campaign, for instance. I think that was December '04." He paused, "Anyway, I'd get Forrester's team heading this design. He's brilliant with this kind of product."

Bingley looked astonished. "And you said you never worked at Deerbourne?"

Darcy's gaze flickered up quickly. In his lap, Sam clanged silverware together. "No," he cleared his throat, "a few internships here and there, but I worked with a lot of guys from your building. Transfers. Learned a lot."

"What got you out of the business?" inquired Jay thoughtfully.

"My father-in-law had a heart attack a few years ago. Priorities had to be shifted. I took over the family bookstore."

"Bennet's, over on Walnut," Charlie nodded, "the one I was telling you about, Jay."

"_Ah_," the older man's eyebrows rose.

"Family heirloom, so to speak," Bingley grinned at Will. "The apple of Jane's eye."

"Still," Jay nodded, "a move like that takes sacrifice. A real family man we have here. They don't make too many like you in the corporate world, Darcy."

"Maybe it doesn't mix," Will suggested. It was just the sort of bait that needed to be thrown. He watched Jay carefully.

Reynolds shrugged and rose out of his seat. He slipped a few bills onto the table and hesitated, eyes flickering to Charlie and back to Will. "You know what," Jay said slowly, "it should. Some men don't realize it; it's not all about money. It's about _passion_. A good eye for business and a desire to get done an incredible finished product, regardless of time and budget. Do you understand me, Will?"

"I do, sir."

Jay eyed him, then procured a business card from his wallet. "Give me a ring sometime if you're looking to get back into the city. You do have a resume, don't you?"

_I could scrape one up easy_. "Yes," Will broke out into a grin, "thank you, Mr. Reynolds."

Jay's thoughts were already elsewhere in the drop of a hat: "Bingley, we sharing a cab?"

"I'll meet you in a few, Jay."

"Suit yourself."

After he had gone, Charlie sat back in his seat. He watched as Will covered Sam's eyes and opened them, an impromptu game of peek-a-boo that had the kid giggling hysterically. Bingley couldn't quite put his finger on it. Will Darcy could morph from quiet loner to business savvy to likable father in an instant.

"What _are _you, man?" Charlie found himself laughing.

Darcy looked up, "Sorry?"

"That was kind of incredible. You could have told me you had a background in my profession. A _solid _background, no less. Do you know how shocked I am right now?"

"It must have slipped my mind." It had. What use was his career in this life? He stared at the neat business card in his hand. Apparently still useful. _Is it wrong to feel really good about myself right now?_ Darcy hid a smile, fingers tracing over the raised text of his old company logo. Sammy bent a corner of the card.

* * *

Elizabeth, Will and Sam were walking leisurely back to the lot and enjoying the mild weather. She was happy, grinning even; the presentation had been a success. The only thing that really edged her over now was the INC pencil skirt Jane had encouraged her to wear. City trekking in the ultra feminine was impractical and irritating. So she had ditched her heels halfway down the block and proceeded onward in her stockings, much to Darcy's chagrin.

"God, you sound like my mother," Lizzy rolled her eyes. "_You shouldn't walk around barefoot so much, Lizzy. You'll step on broken glass or get a splinter or sever a major artery_." Her voice had taken on a _Coffee Talk_ Linda Richman trill. Jewish mother from Brooklyn.

Darcy paused thoughtfully, readjusting Sam on his shoulders. "You parading around barefoot in the sixth largest city in the United States is a _little _different." Sam laughed at the inflection and pulled his father's ears. "_Ow_."

"Tomato, To_mah_to," Lizzy grinned. "Let's agree to disagree."

"Fine example you are," murmured Will with a smirk.

"I'm a regular Wild Child," she said dryly, stopping right in front of him. She tickled Sam's sides and grinned, "Are _you _a Wild Child, Sammy Sosa? You've got to be."

Sam screamed (but mostly in delight) and reached forward for his mother, who scooped him up and managed to peg Will's head with his knee in the process.

Lizzy erupted in giggles, "Damn, you're really taking a beating." She blew a raspberry into the crook of her boy's neck, "You're such a goof, beating Dad like that. Save it for your teenage years, then we can _really _give him hell. _One-two_ punch right in the keister."

Will's sneer melted into a look of utter bafflement: "I can't believe you still use words like keister."

"I'm really not of this decade," she explained.

"Clearly. You sound like my grandfather."

They stopped at a street corner to wait for the green 'Walk' sign to flicker on, a crowd of people chatting amicably among them. Lizzy was oblivious. She threw Sam up into the air and cradled him back to her chest, and his grin was almost face-splitting. It disturbed an older woman with dreads; apparently such an altitude was frowned upon for toddler tossage. What didn't surprise Darcy, however, was the fact that Lizzy couldn't be arsed to care.

"So," she linked arms with him, her green eyes bright and jubilant, "what did you boys do without me?"

"Food!" Sam announced.

"Au Bon Pain," Darcy smiled. "We had lunch. And um, met Charlie Bingley there."

Lizzy arched an eyebrow, "Ah, Bingley, my good man. What an illustrious fellow."

"Who are you, John Cleese?"

She waved this off, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Still, that's a little skeevy," Lizzy countered. "Why was Charlie camping out there?"

"Because it's lunch hour on a Friday. You know, when normal employed people break their day in half to partake in nourishment," Darcy deadpanned.

"Oh."

"_Oh_," Darcy mimicked lightheartedly. "I met Charlie's boss."

"Oh?"

"Oh."

"_Oh_."

"Lizzy, stop."

"Caffeine high, disregard it."

Will asked her to sit down with him on a bench outside of a Gap store, and Lizzy was about to tease him on the urgency when she saw the glint in his eye. They sat together even as Sam grew impatient and started grunting and pulling hair, and Will explained all about the meeting with Charlie and Jay Reynolds. He left no stone unturned, left no expression unaccounted for, and eagerness completely colored his voice. Lizzy sat, listening quietly all the while, pulling loose threads out of the hem of her skirt. She finally looked up at him.

"It was incredible," Darcy recounted with a proud smile. "An extremely fortunate case of right place and right time. And the thing is, this is the exact line of work I was _supposed _to go into! This is who I was going to be and I can have it _here _too. Jay was the man I was going to work for, and somebody has dropped this opportunity right into my lap, despite all of the detours."

It was that word, _detour_, Will recognized as a mistake. And its impact had already been made before he could make amends. Lizzy's head bent low, and she seemed fixated on the grooves of the bench now, her hair obscuring her eyes.

Will brushed his hand against her cheek. "I didn't mean it like that," he said softly.

"Do you pretty much resent me?" Elizabeth asked, glancing upward. He looked at her in surprise, and she searched his face. "I never pushed you into Dad's business, and I thought you would go back. I really did. But you seemed so adamant on helping my parents, like you were their own son. Maybe it was my fault for not figuring out that it wasn't what you really wanted; you do have a habit of covering up your feelings. We got comfortable. And there's been this grudge."

Will tried brokenly, "I didn't—"

"You were so _angry _back from Seattle. Angry at _me_. Did I really hold you back?" Elizabeth asked urgently. "I was just afraid of moving the kids. That job would have changed _everything_, Will, and there was no guarantee of its success. It was never a lack of faith in _you_, I want you to know that. That deal was all or nothing, and I was scared out of my _wits_."

"Lizzy—"

"No," Lizzy shook her head. "You know what, it's not worth it anymore. Whatever happens here with Charlie and this Jay guy, I want you to know that it's _okay_. Hell, this business was never your obligation; it should have never been your burden to bear. And I couldn't live with myself if I held you back from something you felt you truly needed to do. You said it yourself. You were _supposed _to do it. Maybe even all those years ago."

"That doesn't make everything _else _a mistake," Darcy said suddenly. He started, surprised at his words.

Lizzy smiled and laid her hand flat against his cheek. "Of course. Those _detours_, Will? Detours are always there for a reason."


	13. Leave the Bourbon on the Shelf

**Thirteen**: _Leave the Bourbon on the Shelf_

Sage liked curling up in patches of early sunlight.

She also liked bristling by ankles and occasionally shrieking, but it was this _third_ observation that brought on Will's first pang of affection for the cat. It was five in the morning, and he was at the kitchen table, and his coffee was cool and untouched.

He had been up for two hours now.

On the tiled floor, Sage's long black and white tail clicked back and forth like an ancient metronome. Will reached over and cupped his palm against the scruff of her neck; she purred and molded into his hand, eyes sleepy slits of gray.

A corner of his mouth pulled up.

Beneath her paw lay a folded business card. It had flapped two feet short of the wastebasket in its failed missile launch. But that was okay. Because Will had already made his decision. In fact, he had made his decision the night before. Not even. The moment, the spark of a _millisecond_, at a curbside bench. When electric green eyes had promised him the world and he had realized, heart firmly lodged in throat, that he was already happy.

"Girl," Darcy murmured. Sage lay still.

Barefoot, he abandoned his mug in the sink and padded quietly upstairs as something soft grazed at his ankles. The bedroom door cracked open and the cat darted inside. Will watched from the doorway. Worn mahogany dresser. Pale green walls. Pre-K popsicle stick picture frames. Crumpled up clothing. _Yeah, this is definitely us_.

Elizabeth was still sleeping, mostly because she was human and not prone to waking up at an ungodly Katie Couric hour. The mattress creaked under his weight and he crawled under the covers; Lizzy was warm. Will hadn't realized how cold he was until his hand brushed against her wrist.

He paused, propped up on an elbow, and traced slow faint patterns on her skin. Freckles. A birthmark near the crook of her elbow. It was a little while before Lizzy stirred and gave a slow, sleepy smile. "Hi, Creepy."

"Hi," Will murmured.

Lizzy squinted up at him blearily, then snaked one pale arm across to her bed stand, groping for a watch. She pulled it up to her face and arched an eyebrow. "Jesus, _really_? It's five something in the morning."

Darcy tilted his head and pointed at the watch's face. "See, this black wand right here is called the _minute_ hand, and it usually tells you how much time has elapsed in the course of an _hour_—"

She shoved him. "Cute."

He grinned. "How long have you been up?" Lizzy put a hand against his cheek—morning stubble.

Darcy looked contemplative. "Let's just say they were showing infomercials on every channel."

"You're such a weirdo," she yawned.

"I know."

Lizzy nestled back into the covers. Thirty more seconds and guaranteed, she'd be asleep again.

"I gotta tell you something," Darcy said urgently.

"Yeah?" she smiled, and his stomach gave a little flip. "Let's hear it."

In the end, it hadn't been difficult to say at all. There was no knot in his throat, or tongue-tied babbling, or schoolboy sweaty palms. He brushed a curl out of her face and looked at the woman who had sent his life through a mass of twisted roads and potholes and revelations and said feelingly what he had felt for way too long now: "I'm in love with you."

And there it was.

Ideally (after such a declaration), Lizzy would have leaped off of the bed and embraced him and there probably would have been much sweeping and pining and glassy eyes and the recreation of some fabulous Fabio covers.

Well, maybe not.

But in reality, Lizzy was only able to poke her head out from under the comforter and give him a sleepy green-eyed gaze before Sam's banshee wail could be heard across the hallway. Toddlers and their ill-timed nightmares.

She darted out of the room like a lightning bolt and Darcy was left, pinned over the warm patch of bedsheet that had been his wife about half a minute ago. He laughed suddenly and stopped, unsure of what had just happened.

It wasn't until Will had given up and started dressing that Lizzy came sprinting into the room and lunged into his arms. The fact that his face wasn't even through the neckhole of his shirt yet was irrelevant. It was still romantic.

* * *

"You turned down the job?"

"I turned down the job."

Richard's jaw thunked onto his shoes.

Both men were sitting on abandoned gymnastics mats in the Martial Arts studio. Five feet away, Liam was trying to imitate Sensei down to the way he parted his hair. He smoothed his little palm over his head self consciously, tucking back fly-aways. Chloe was looking at her toes. There were only three girls, and she was easily the most _Meh_ of the batch.

"_Why_?" Richard flashed him a wild look. "I've heard you bitch about your bookshop nonstop since, I don't know, January of last _year_."

"Well, things change," Darcy said breezily, taking a sip from his thermos. He smiled to himself.

His neighbor watched him cautiously. "Would you stop grinning? It's making me angry."

"Let's look up therapy for you, Rich."

"No, seriously. I kind of want to punch you in the balls right now."

"Lighten up," beamed Darcy. "It's a beautiful day, and we need to appreciate it."

Richard glanced over his shoulder and out the window towards the parking lot. His eyebrows lifted. The sky had been gray and stormy for about three days now. There was a red Chrysler minivan parked at the curb, where a mother was screaming shrilly at her little brat who refused to put on his karate uniform. He sobbed and threw a Wiggles DVD at her forehead and she staggered back a couple feet.

"Yeah. It's fucking gorgeous out."

Will turned to him pensively, "See, that's the problem with society today. Negativity."

"Or you're just high off your _ass_," smirked Richard, stealing his thermos. "Earl Grey," he scrunched his nose. "Wow. Grow a pair."

"Sorry I forgot to fill the Starbucks thermos with hard liquor today."

"Time heals all wounds, Will Darcy, I'll get over it."

Darcy snorted. After a couple minutes, Richard turned his watchful brown eyes towards him. "'Kay," he slumped, "I'll bite. Have you won the lottery?"

Will shrugged simply. Happily. "I'm in love."

A sharp gasp, "No _ways_."

"You're a dick."

Richard grinned, "You're telling me after seven years of marriage, you realized you're in love with Lizzy."

"Kind of."

"And _I'm_ the dick?"

Darcy was very tempted to scowl, but he decided to shift the tables a little. "What, you're telling me it's not the same with Jo?"

"Don't bring my wife into this," laughed Richard. "And, let me put in this way, there comes a time when _in love_ tapers off to _unspoken love_ as in I know we love each other by the way she fondly slaps me for watching Monday Night Football when Chloe is sick to her stomach."

"Oh, come on."

"The Jets were playing. And I have a very sensitive upchuck reflex."

Darcy stared at him coolly.

Richard smiled, "Fine, what do you want me to say? I love Jo, I do. She just knows I'm not a man of words. The first time I tried to tell her I loved her, we were coming back from her parents after Thanksgiving. And I stood on her porch and I _froze_. Literally, mouth hanging open, staring like the dumbest asshole on the face of the Earth. I was so ungodly nervous."

"So what happened?"

"I don't know. She kind of just _got _it. That's the great thing about us. I don't have to say much. She just reads me. I'm a damn magazine to her."

"How very _Jerry Maguire_."

"She completes me," Richard grinned. "So she puts her hand on my face, like this," he laid his hand flat against Will's cheek. Darcy shifted uncomfortably and Richard sniggered, "And she says, all slow and affected: _Yeah, backatchya_."

Darcy gaped, "She could have been talking about something else."

"No, man, it was the _inflection_. The _way _she said it. Fireworks right there."

"She could have thought you were bloated from dinner and she felt the same."

"Okay, now I'm really gonna have to punch you in the balls."

Darcy doubled over with laughter and Richard spend the remainder of the lesson sulking.

* * *

Not even a mouthy Lydia could metaphorically piss on his parade.

Will pushed through the front door, Liam giggling in delight as he swung him over his shoulders and promptly dropped him on the sofa. He threw the massive Tiger Schulmann's duffel bag down by the steps and his sister-in-law flashed him a chilly, withering look: "You mind taming the grand entrance down? I'm on the _phone_."

"For the sexual harrassment suit?"

"Bite me."

He grinned.

In the kitchen, Elizabeth was sifting through the mail, a pen sticking out from her messy ponytail. She was writing some sort of address down in a decades old File O Fax. Darcy watched from over her shoulder, settling his arms around her waist.

"Hi there," Lizzy laughed.

"Between the word _keister _and the File O Fax," poked Will, "I'm pretty much convinced you're not from 2009."

"Shut up. I'm hip."

Lizzy tilted her head back on his shoulder and scowled; he smiled and kissed her forehead.

"That was very PG, Will Darcy, compared to this morning."

"Yeah, well," he looked down at his shoes, "I'm standing in a puddle of Legos and you're making lasagna."

Lizzy swiveled on her heels, so that they were facing. She smoothed his hair back, "Are you offering to make the lasagna?"

"Um, _no_." Darcy paused and leaned forward, kissing her just below her ear. "But I could clean up the Legos," he murmured against her skin.

"Yeah?" she breathed, tangling her fingers in his hair.

"Well, probably not."

"_Douche_," she shoved his shoulder and whirled around.

He was just about to tease her on her vocabulary again, but Lizzy turned back, green eyes wide. "Holy crap, you didn't see the driveway, did you?"

"No," Will said cautiously. "I parked on the street."

"I swear, it's some kind of hoax, but I kind of flipped shit after you left. There's a silver BMW parked next to the Accord. A BM_W_. I feel like James Bond is coming over for dinner. It makes my eyes water a little, not gonna lie."

Will's mouth was suddenly dry.

"Oh, and this was taped to the front door." Elizabeth outstretched her hand and shook her head in disbelief.

She dropped his keys in his palm. A tiny tube of pink paper was wrapped around the silver latch. Darcy slipped it out, heart thundering, and read the elegant, mechanical script:

_Hey, Jimmy Stewart. It's time_.


	14. Good Morning, Major Tom

_Oh, let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the South of France  
Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters  
and teach them how to dance  
Let's get rich and build our house on a mountain  
making everybody look like ants  
From way up there, you and I (you and I)_

Ingrid Michaelson - "You and I"

**Fourteen:** _Good Morning, Major Tom  
_

There was one rule.

It was golden and sacred and buried in centuries old wisdom and rooted deep in experience. And it was that she couldn't, under _any_ circumstances, get attached. No tugged heartstrings or affectionate mothering. It was _forbidden_. Stick to the plan, fulfill the purpose and complete the task. And Jules had been the perfect businesswoman about it.

But damn, Will Darcy was making this tough.

"This guilt trip is giving me massive whiplash," Jules muttered, massaging her temples.

"Don't do this."

Will's eyes smoldered. Actually _smoldered_. It was a 2-for-1 combo of agony and grief. And it made the girl squirm. He was worse than the others. Something about his face; the man was _way_ too intense and affecting, and Jules had underestimated its impact.

"_Will_—"

"No. You can't. Take the keys, I don't want it. I don't want _any_ of it back."

"You have no say. It's not your choice to make." The keys clunked onto the park bench, untouched.

A muscle leaped in his jaw. Darcy sprang up from his seat and paced quickly in front of her, threading his fingers through his hair. "_When_?" demanded Will, voice steely and broken.

"This is your last night."

The bench rocked with the force of his kick, and Jules steadied her hands at the edge of her seat. Her face was smooth and placid. Worse reactions had happened.

Darcy's fists were tight and curled at his side. "I can't believe you're doing this to me." He was shaking.

Jules was almost serene in her patience. "You have to understand—"

"This is _bullshit_."

"I can see why you're upset, Will, but what you fail to grasp—"

"_Upset_?" Darcy froze in his tracks. "Why would I be upset? It's not like you're tearing me out of a life I've finally grown into. It's not like you're pulling me away from a girl I've fallen in love with. Or two boys I've come to love as my own. Hell, they _are_ my own. This is my _life_! And I refuse to give it up because you have a fucking _deadline_. It's immoral. You can't be interrupting lives like this, Jules. It isn't _right_."

She sat and listened in silence, yanking wisps of her blonde hair into an intricate braid. Her bright eyes darted upward. "You're forgetting something." A corner of her mouth pulled into a smile. "Something _big_, maestro. This isn't your life. It's an illusion, pal. A back road. A _glimpse_, if you will. This isn't reality."

"It's fucking real to _me_."

"Well, that's the beauty of the situation."

Will sneered, "I don't understand how you can be this cruel after everything. You encouraged me to embrace it all,_ you set me up_, and now you're sitting there with the wrecking ball. How do you live with yourself?"

"Practice," Jules examined her fingernails and avoided his eyes. It was easier when she did.

Not that she didn't feel the heat of his stare.

"Jules."

It was the desperate, quiet edge in this address that appealed to her; Jules lifted her gaze and instantly regretted it. Darcy's face was so unbearably hopeful that a dull ache filled her chest, slow and needle sharp.

"Please." His eyes looked glassy.

She swallowed hard and failed to keep the tremor out of her voice. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

It was raining when Lizzy heard the front door click shut. She didn't see his face as he bent his head low and wiped his shoes on the rug. Darcy shrugged out of his wet jacket and slung it over the banister, eyes downcast and face ashen. Elizabeth was at his side in a handful of seconds. Her head dipped low and she grinned, "Was it that hard to give up the car?" She brushed her hand against his cheek.

He kissed her on the mouth. "No," Darcy said finally, like deciding a verdict.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Always," he smiled. "Wanna go upstairs?"

"Sure."

Lizzy trailed after him, hand cupped in his. They found themselves in the boys' bedroom. It was pitch black, except for the fluorescent green glow of the glow-in-the-dark stars and planets pasted all over the walls. A good afternoon had been spent creating these miniature galaxies. Will let his fingers trail over a crescent moon and the rings of Saturn.

Sammy was fast asleep, his covers kicked off and his fist drawn up to his lips (a thumb-sucker's greatest temptation). A grizzled old bunny rabbit had been tossed from the sheets; the boy couldn't sleep with anything in the bed with him. But he insisted on being tucked in with a toy, every single night. Elizabeth covered his legs and pulled over the sheets, letting her hand linger on his curls.

Darcy stood in the center of the room. Lizzy kissed his cheek and left him there.

He felt like crying. Legitimately, crying. His throat felt constricted, like an air bubble had been trapped there.

"Dad?"

Liam was propped up on an elbow, eyes squinted against the darkness.

"Hey, kiddo." The mattress squeaked under his weight. "I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"I'm not tired," insisted the boy. He lay back down, head cushioned against his arms.

Darcy's smile was crooked, "Of course not."

Liam traced the pinstripes on his pillowcase. "Can I go to work with you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" Massive blue eyes met his.

"Anything you want." He kissed his forehead.

Liam's grin was wide and unmistakable, even in the darkness. "But I have to sleep."

"You have to sleep," Will agreed.

"Okay." He nestled back into the covers. "Love you, Dad."

Darcy smoothed his hair back. "I love you too, Liam."

Twenty five minutes passed before Will was actually able to drag himself out of the bedroom. He watched Liam fall asleep and clicked the door shut behind him, feet dragging into the hall. In his room, Elizabeth was sitting at the dresser, unhooking her earrings. They clattered by the mirror and she grinned at him from the reflection. "Hey, stranger. Did you get sidetracked back there?"

"A little," Will smiled.

Lizzy raked a hand through her hair, shaking it out of its clip so that it tumbled onto her shoulders. She had already changed. His old college t-shirt and pink striped PJ bottoms was a little unethical, but she was kind of adorable in it. She was swaying her hips slowly to a soft, grainy Nat King Cole song. He hadn't even realized that the clock radio was turned on.

"You wanna dance?"

Lizzy looked skeptical, "It's eleven o'clock."

"So?"

"_So_," she laughed. "I guess I'm yours."

Darcy pulled her close and Lizzy linked her arms around his neck. He rested his cheek against hers. "This song has really shitty quality."

"I think it's cute."

"_L is for the way you look at me,_" Will pressed his lips into her hair.

"Corny but cute," corrected Lizzy with a wry smile. They rocked back and forth to the melody, and she twirled on the balls of her bare feet.

The song was interrupted by a Q102 sweepstakes announcement, and Lizzy stopped and curtseyed graciously.

"We can still dance through staticky radio personalities," Darcy said softly. "I just want to be with you."

Lizzy tilted her head. "You always will be."

"Promise?"

"Of course."

In the end, he had struggled. Lizzy fell asleep nestled against him, and Will had held her as long as possible. His eyes were trained on the ceiling. Fighting sleep had never been so heartbreakingly difficult. But Lizzy was warm and he was lulled by the sound of her breathing; Will drifted off, dreamless and gone.

* * *

Underwater again. Garbled, distant, washed out.

Oxygen filled his lungs, sharp and ice cold. It was painful to breathe. Darcy inhaled and felt his chest tighten and strain. His head was throbbing. Fragments of conversation bombarded him, voices blending with the tinny ringing in his ears.

"—gently—"

"You need to—_driver's license_?"

"Blood—"

"_Gently_, for Chrissake!"

He closed his eyes.


	15. Set the Fire to the Third Bar

**Fifteen**: _Set the Fire to the Third Bar_

It was totally true: hospital pudding was the _worst_.

Not Darcy's broken arm or grade 3 concussion. Or the sharp smell of antiseptics. Definitely not his crushed BMW ("Will insurance cover, 'cause the headlights are in the trunk"). But the pudding. Oh, dear Lord. The pudding.

"It's got the consistency of diarrhea, but it's kind of congealed and frozen at the bottom," Bingley dug with a plastic spoon. "Sad part is, I can't seem to put it _down_."

He grinned from his seat, leather loafers propped up on the edge of the mattress. Darcy wasn't very motivated to push Charlie off. In all actuality, he didn't much have the physical strength to do anything. But he was grateful. Charlie was a little weirded out by it. Their conversations would have long stretches of silence, interrupted by constant _thank you_s. And apologies. Will Darcy didn't really _ever_ apologize.

"Don't be sorry," insisted Bingley. "I'm just happy you're not dead. They called me from the ER, thirty minutes into my dinner. A little shocking. I got steak stuck in my throat."

It was a karmic bonus; having the best friend resurrected. But it wasn't like anybody else was at his side. Carrie was out of town with Louisa; she promised to arrive Monday night (not that he really craved her company). And Georgie…

Will was heartbroken. It was hard coming to terms with the fact that, in this life, he hadn't spoken to his baby sister in a year. He had let his family crack into shambles.

_Lizzy_.

Charlie's voice distracted him from his own thoughts. And thank God, because he had been suggestively eyeballing a butter knife for the last fifteen minutes.

"Buddy, you look like shit. What did the accident report say?"

Darcy stared pensively at the plastic bracelet wrapped around his wrist. "Oh, you know. Busy, congested street. I swerved trying to avoid some girl on a bike. Inched into the other lane and got hit, driver's side, by a really shiny Volkswagen."

"Damn," whistled Charlie, "that girl must have come out of nowhere."

"She did. Believe me she did," Darcy muttered.

After awhile, his best friend's answers dwindled into nothing, and Charlie reluctantly had to pull himself away from Will's side. Any moodiness was mistaken for a warped version of Post Traumatic Stress. He would be discharged in two days, and Will was pretty happy with the prospect of staring at a white wall until his brain leaked out of his ears. It would be a comforting way to go. Then he wouldn't have to think about her anymore.

Monday was the day. And not a moment too soon; Will could feel himself getting stir-crazy. He had already seen a gangly attending named Dr. Wickham flirt with a couple nurses outside of his room. Paranoia was eating him up.

"So there really _is _no Dr. Wickham?" asked Will.

His nurse de-velcroed the blood pressure monitor from his arm and sighed, "For the last time, Mr. Darcy, I haven't heard of a Wickham on staff here. And I've been here for 13 years."

"But he looks just like him, I swear. Am I hallucinating?"

"Well, you _are _concussed," she laughed. Her smile reminded him of Edie. "I'll be right back."

Will thunked his head back down on the pillow. More than anything, he wanted to sleep. Sleep, sleep, dreamless sleep. _Not _think. Thinking was painful. His thoughts would burst back and forth like a competitive ping-pong match. He rubbed his cheek. _I need to shave_.

The armchair next to Darcy was empty. If he stared long enough, Georgie would materialize there and harass him. Or Richard, tipping a beer in his honor. Or Liam, building an intricate palace out of lego blocks.

And this was how Jane Bennet found him.

"You know," she said casually, dropping a bouquet of flowers into his lap. "I would say you look good. But I'd kind of be lying. So, maybe in theory."

"_Jane_," Darcy was startled.

"Hi," Jane grinned, kissing his cheek.

"I don't—what are you doing here?"

"Well," shrugged Jane, brushing her red bangs out of her face, "Charlie let spill that we were supposed to meet you for dinner last Friday. Imagine my shock when I learned that you had gone to the extent of getting into a _car _accident just to avoid me." Before he could respond, she laughed and sat in the armchair, "I'm kidding. Unless it's true. Which would be a little tragic."

"How _are _you?"

"I'm okay. Just wanted to give best wishes for your health. It's been a long time."

"I appreciate it," Will said meaningfully. "Thank you, Jane."

"Sure thing," Jane laughed, "I always liked you. Maybe against better judgment. Because after you left, I swore Lizzy I'd hunt you down and string you up on a tree by your toes. _Kind _of like Mussolini. But a huge part of me still believes you've got a good heart. Go figure."

"The problem here is that you always have faith in people who probably don't deserve it."

"Yeah, it's a curse and a blessing."

Darcy bent his head low and plucked at the flower petals in his lap. Jane stared at him thoughtfully.

"I'll save you the trouble: Lizzy's fine."

Will looked up quickly, confronted with the knowing smile on her face. Many years ago, he had made the grave mistake of mistaking Jane's beauty with vapidness. But she knew much more than he had ever given her credit for. "I was gonna ask."

"Yeah, but you were practically _choking _on the words." Jane flashed a pity glance. "But Lizzy's good. I think for once in her life, she's across-the-board happy. Comfortable living, job that she loves, caring and gorgeous boyfriend. _And _he can cook, so she has me there. They're buying an apartment soon. Wait _no_, sorry, condominium."

Darcy's voice was tinny and flat to his own ears: "That's great."

"Congratulations on your engagement, by the way. I've met Carrie; she's a sweetheart. Classy girl you have there."

"Oh, right—thank you."

The nurse returned and Jane got to her feet. She shrugged into her jacket, pulling her auburn braid out from under the green collar. "You might want to put those in a vase," she pointed at the daisies. "Before you leave, I mean." Will nodded and she lingered at the doorway. "It's good to see you, Darcy."

"You too, Jane."

Fifteen seconds.

"_Jane!_"

The redhead crossed the threshold again.

"Listen, I get that this is _very _impromptu and probably borderline creepy and inappropriate, but I need your sister's number. I _have _to talk to Elizabeth. And I know I might be risking her happiness and interrupting her life right now, but you're just gonna have to trust me on this, grab a piece of hospital stationery and let me speak to her. The bottom line is that I was too much of a selfish coward to show my face on Friday, and that needs to stop. Like, _now_. I need to see Lizzy."

The nurse had paused.

Jane cocked her head and smirked, "Is this a closure thing?"

"No. It's a _please-give-me-her-number-or-I'm-going-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-wondering_ thing."

"Give me a pen."

* * *

His condo was just so—_ugh_. Cold and shiny. There was no evidence of life, _true _life. It looked like a cutout from an Ikea catalogue. When the lease had first been signed, the first Carrie did was hire a Feng Shui expert. Darcy had told her that he didn't care much for sushi. She had thwacked him upside the head.

Will missed eclectic furniture and popsicle stick picture frames.

And cheesecake in the fridge and slightly undercooked soybeans. And Sage darting around like 007.

He opened a carton of day-old Chinese food and sat in front of the plasma screen, scrolling through fifteen hundred channels. Oh, Verizon Fios at its finest. He settled for watching the _Barefoot Contessa_ because it didn't really require commitment. In his lap, Jane's handwriting taunted him. An address and a phone number. The eldest Bennet either had a vendetta against Lizzy's current boyfriend or was a diehard member of Team Darcy. Faith was _definitely _her weakness. But Will wasn't exactly complaining. _Call, you pussy_.

He was in this meditative train of thought when Carrie burst inside and started giggling.

"You know how I can tell that your brain's been rattling inside that skull of yours?" she trilled, dropping her Coach purse on the end table. "You're watching the Food Network and _enjoying_ it."

Darcy squeezed his eyes shut.

"Oh, baby," Carrie touched the bandage on his forehead gingerly. "How many stitches?"

"Five."

"And a broken arm, too. _Damn_, Will. How are you going to carry things for me now?"

"Buy a forklift."

She grinned and sat in his lap, running her fingers through the ends of his hair. Darcy tried to remind himself that this was his life; this was what he had chosen, and he had been comfortable and happy with it many, many weeks ago.

"So, what's the deal with this concussion thing? Am I supposed to monitor you?" Carrie pouted and kissed him fleetingly. "Because I have a _super _busy next week. Tuesday I'm being fitted for my dress. And Daddy wants me to come home on Friday for the weekend. And Marcél wants me to be there at the opening of his restaurant, Bazaar. Not that I want to eat anything there, me and raw fish _so _don't mix. But I owe him a favor; I really wish I didn't. He's such an obnoxious fruitcake."

Will sighed.

"If you want, I can hire you a nurse. But you seem sort of _okay_, despite the fact that you smell like hospital soap." Her fingers flitted to his shirt, where she began to straighten his collar. The behavior was so Lizzylike that Darcy instantly cringed and slipped out from under her. Carrie peeked up from over the couch, "Hel_lo_, what was that?"

"I need something to drink."

"Aren't you medicated?"

"Little bit."

She followed Darcy into the kitchen, where he was rifling through the cabinets.

"You're so _morbid _today, Will. It's such a turn-off." Carrie slipped in front of him and slinked her arms around Will's waist. She smiled, "Did you miss me, babe?"

"No." Darcy removed her hands and took a step back, thoughtful. He had to feel for her a little: Miss Bingley's smile had slipped off of her face and collected on the floor. It was kind of like being hit by a train, but these were hurried times. He was confident that she would bounce back. Forty-eight hours, tops. "Carrie, you don't want to marry me. I've been thinking."

"Have you," Carrie crossed her arms, affronted.

"Yeah. _Yes_. And look—I don't think it's fair to gloss this over. You need the truth. And the truth is that you don't love me and I don't love you. I probably never will. I know that sounds harsh, but it's mutual," Darcy winced. "We look fan_fucking_tastic on paper, I'll give you that. But really, it's taken me awhile to realize this, because I've most likely been repressing this emotion for months now: I kind of can't _stand _you. Sorry."

So, maybe it was a huge mistake to think that being fresh out of the hospital would have garnered Will Darcy some pity points and prevented his now ex-fiancée from chasing him around the penthouse, launching fine Tiffany china vases at his face. This was not the case. But to his advantage, Caroline Bingley had dismal aim. Her brother, Darcy was convinced, would beat him to a pulp to compensate.

* * *

"_I can't exactly blame you for not heading into work today. Jay understands accidents. I think he's been in seven since the age of 20_."

Darcy laughed, staring out the window at blurred buildings. "Brutal, Charlie."

"_You only missed a couple meetings, which I pretty much covered for you. Unless you were convinced we weren't besties anymore_."

Will winced, "Charlie—"

"_I'm not angry. The way I figure, it was only a matter of time. You and my _sister_, man. Her bizarre infatuation with you from the start was a little creepy to begin with. Let's just be honest with ourselves. And you used her to settle down. Sort of_."

"Harsh, Dr. Phil."

"_Tell me I'm wrong_."

"You're not," Darcy agreed. "But she'll be okay, right?"

"_Shit, yeah_." A thoughtful pause. "_If you get obscene hate mail, please realize it's only a phase, okay? Unless it's ticking. Then you have my permission to be concerned._"

"I would feel a little sorry for mankind if I turned Carrie into the next Unabomber." The cab driver flashed him a critical look from the rear view mirror. Darcy sunk lower into his seat, "Anyway, I don't really think it's advisable to say bomb in public. Just for future reference."

"_Why? Where are you? I thought you were home. Bed rest, Darce._"

"No," murmured Will. "I got some things to take care of." He fingered the slip of paper in his pocket. "If I faint, I'll let you know."

"_That's a little hard to do if you're unconscious_."

"You're cute."

"_Ahaha. Take care, Will._"

The cab slowed into the neighborhood, crawling to a stop three blocks down. Darcy slipped out a couple bills from his wallet and shut the door behind him. He unfolded Jane's paper from his pocket, checking the address in what little light the street lamp provided. Without Charlie's lighthearded words, Will was suddenly shaken with nervousness. He tore and bent the corners of the stationery. _This was stupid. I can't do this. What the fuck am I supposed to say?_

Damn.

"What do I _really _have to lose at this point?" Darcy muttered.

It was this thought that made his feet shuffle mechanically, up the stoop, through the lobby, into the elevator, to the seventh floor. _7C, 7C, 7C. I'm a potential stalker_.

Perhaps he thought that the walk-up would have been sufficient time to weigh the pros and cons and over analyze his situation until it was exhausted. But it was almost unfair how easy and fast it was to get to Elizabeth's apartment. By the time Will was knocking at the door, he half-hoped nobody would answer. Then Will could just slip in between the floorboards and melt into a little puddle of self-pity and drag himself home.

The chain unhinged and slid open, and Darcy heard a string of profanities before the lady was able to wrench open a slightly uncooperative door.

Elizabeth Bennet was beautiful. Heartbreakingly so. She wouldn't have agreed, having just been caught in the hallway with long, untamed curls and sweatpants that had seen one too many rinse cycles. But Will's heart seized up in his throat and he stood, awkward and startled, in the middle of it all.

Lizzy's mouth formed a perfect 'O'.

"Holy shit."


	16. I Need Some Fine Wine

**Author's Note**: Sorry I've been such a cliffhanging ho. Love ya'll.

* * *

**Sixteen**: _I Need Some Fine Wine and You, You Need to Be Nicer_

Elizabeth Bennet laughed, loud and incredulous. "Will. William _Darcy_. Jesus Christ, you're the last person I expected at my door on a Monday night. I thought you were Chinese takeout."

Darcy's smile was strained and uncertain. He thought to shrug (an awkward man's gesture of choice) but seemed to forget that his left arm was in a splint and sling.

"Sorry I didn't call first." A beat. "Then again, you've probably changed numbers over the last decade." He winced a little. _Dickhead._

"Yeah," Lizzy tucked a strand of hair out of her face and leaned against the doorframe. "What happened to you?"

"Car accident."

"_Nice_."

"Right?" Darcy blinked.

"Sorry if that was insensitive," Lizzy's mouth quirked up a little. She pushed the door open. "Oh, won't you come in, Will?" The tinge of sarcasm was slight but deliberate.

This wouldn't be easy.

Lizzy's apartment was clean and lived in. The walls were colorful and bookshelves were everywhere. In the corner of the living room was an old leather armchair and an abandoned quilt tossed over it. Two or three guitar cases rested against a radiator. A mug of tea sat above a dusty stack of records. And she was still painting. It was something that warmed his heart in its familiarity. There was a gorgeous piece of a faceless, fluid young dancer hanging above the coffee table; he must have stared for around thirty seconds before he realized he was alone.

Darcy found Lizzy in the kitchen, making coffee. He wouldn't have been making coffee for himself.

"Hi," Will cleared his throat. "I realize it's beyond weird—showing up like this, out of the blue."

"Just a little."

"But I was supposed to see you on Friday." When Lizzy turned, skeptical, Darcy wrung his hands together. "I'm _that_ friend of Charles Bingley's. The jerk who never showed up to meet your sister."

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry," she laughed, "my world just shrunk like five times. That was _you_?"

"Yeah. I uh, couldn't make it that night." Darcy looked down at his shoes. "But I still wanted to see you. It's been a very long time. I kind of wanted to catch up."

Elizabeth was chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully. "That's—_wow_." She shook her head, as if to clear cobwebs. "That's considerate of you. But I'm having trouble understanding _why_. I mean, I don't think I've seen you since 1999. At least."

"I know," Will faltered. "But I just—you have to understand. I had to see you again. I had to know."

"_Know_," Lizzy repeated, smiling. "Know what? How I am?"

"Something like that."

She handed him a cup of coffee and laughed. "The great Will Darcy comes looking for closure after all these years." Lizzy cocked her head, "I'm sort of touched. Thank God I wasn't holding my breath. But Will, you really shouldn't have. I'm fine. More than fine, actually. Life doesn't suck at the moment. Crisis averted."

Darcy stumbled for words and was pretty sure he had them. But then the front door swung open and Lizzy excused herself. Will groaned and rested his forehead against the cabinets. _Damn_.

A dog barked and he bristled. Will craned his neck past the doorway and saw a black lab dart into the living room and hop up onto the leather armchair, nestling into the old quilt.

"_Sage!_" a man's voice hollered. "Down, girl."

"No fucking way," Darcy smirked.

In the foyer, a young man was shrugging out of a worn leather jacket and removing a baseball cap. He was about Will's height, back facing the kitchen. Elizabeth took his cap and tossed it onto the end table.

"How was your walk?" she asked.

"That dog chases _everything_."

"So, you got some exercise out of it?" A squeak and a laugh. He had pulled her in for a kiss.

Darcy pulled back and set his cup down in the sink. Then he left the kitchen.

The dog instantly started barking. Animals officially hated him.

Jane was right, and he hated her for it. The man was Michael Kent and he was scruffy but handsome and Darcy wanted to hit him square in the jaw. Mostly because he was just _cool_. He owned a record label downtown and played _gigs_. And he came from old money. Rich political family in New York. Of course, Will would spend the next couple of days collecting this information. Life didn't stuff handy 3'' by 5'' index cards in his pockets.

"Oh," Lizzy turned, "Michael, this is Will Darcy. An old friend."

_Ouch_.

Michael smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you." He hesitated, "I hope Elizabeth didn't do that to you."

_I keep forgetting I look like roadkill_. "No," Darcy laughed uncomfortably. "I was in an accident last week."

"Looks pretty bad."

"I walked away with a broken arm and a concussion. It could have been much worse."

"Oh, you're _concussed_," Lizzy's smile was shrewd. "This all makes sense now."

"No, it's not like that," Darcy said suddenly.

Michael looked up.

Lizzy pursed her lips and looked down at her slippers.

"Well, I better go," Will murmured.

"Take care," he clapped him on the shoulder and Darcy stiffened. Michael whistled to Sage and the dog went leaping to his side, tail wagging furiously. "There's a good girl. Stop being such a sweetheart." He disappeared around the corner into the kitchen.

"He seems nice," Darcy stuffed his free hand in his pocket.

Lizzy was nodding.

"You love him?"

She arched an eyebrow, "Wow. That's not invasive or anything."

"Sorry." Darcy cleared his throat. "…I should go."

"Yeah."

Will automatically leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "Bye, Lizzy."

The door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

Charlotte Lucas was halfway through a cinnamon roll before her best friend pried it out of her hands and took a whopping bite. Her mouth fell open, dismayed.

"You bitch. I would have bought you one."

Lizzy Bennet laughed and slid into the chair opposite, heaving her bag onto the table.

Both had been close for 15 years. They hadn't argued about baked goods since the Fall Festival Bake Sale of '96. It wasn't going to start now.

"Thanks for taking time out of your _oh-so-tragically_ packed life to see me," smiled Charlotte. "I could totally be having lunch with Ray right now."

Lizzy grimaced, "Ray Collins. Wowza, such competition."

Charlotte rolled her eyes over the rim of her coffee cup. "Shut up. He's sweet."

"Brownnoser."

"He's got a _very_ demanding job, Lizzy. We all have to suck up to our bosses."

"Ass kissing on Wall Street," she nodded fervently. "I guess it's a prerequisite."

She thought it best to refrain from reminding Charlotte that Raymond Collins had hit on her all throughout last year's Christmas Party. In an itchy Santa suit, no less. Lucas had a habit of picking up the wrong guys. But Lizzy still had some faith in him. There was some underlying earnestness beneath all the perversion.

"So, what's up with you? How's the moving going?" Charlotte dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

"Um," Lizzy grinned, "I'm really into procrastination. Besides, we don't need to have the place cleared until the end of the month."

"Which is in two weeks, princess."

"Yeah, don't patronize me."

Charlotte gave a lopsided smile. She tilted her head, watching as Lizzy stared pensively at the table, fingers tracing a ring that a coffee cup had left behind.

"What are you thinking about?"

Lizzy blushed, embarrassed at being caught. "It's stupid. And _weird_."

"My favorite combo," Charlotte leaned in.

"Will Darcy visited me last night."

Charlotte's mouth hung opened stupidly.

"Catching flies, sweetie?"

"Shut up. Will _Darcy_? College sweetheart?"

Lizzy scowled and leaned back in her chair, "God, don't say that. It sounds so clichéd_."_

"Yeah well, let's hop in a DeLorean and talk to 20 year old you and see if she agrees." Charlotte arched an eyebrow. "Um _why_?"

Lizzy sighed and recounted the story Will Darcy had told about their common connection through Jane and Charlie. A few choice expressions were shared. And spared.

"It was really strange," Lizzy shook her head. "I mean, why now? When everything in my life is, more or less, sorted out. I'm on a good track. And now I'm supposed to be burdened by all these old memories? And Charlotte, he was acting _way_ out of the norm."

"Well, ten years changes a lot of things. How did he look?"

"Broken down and prematurely balding." When Charlotte raised her hand for a fist bump, Lizzy tore away, giggling. "I'm kidding. He looks good. But I'm not going to dwell on that. Because it's not supposed to be dwelled on."

"Sometimes I imagine that my exes got mauled by bears and now they wander the country all deformed and crippled and _definitely_ not getting any."

Lizzy pursed her lips, "Right. _Yeah_. Well, that's why you're a bad person."

Charlotte grinned, "An _imaginative_ person."

"Call it whatever you want," she mused. "See, years ago, I couldn't help myself; I thought about what it would be like to run into him again. I imagined like, a _hundred_ different settings and scenarios, and I'd be armed with the _perfect_ words to say to him. But even now, it was nothing like that. It's never how you imagine. Kind of like what EM Forster said, you know? You can't ever rehearse life."

Charlotte made a face. The literary analysis wasn't agreeing with her. "At least Michael wasn't home."

Lizzy nearly laughed into her cup. "He came home right in the middle. And everything was just _embarrassingly_ awkward."

"What did Will do?"

"Left. No wait, he asked if I loved Michael. And then he kissed me on the cheek. And _then_ he left."

Charlotte stared at her contemplatively. She chuckled.

"_No_," said Lizzy simply. "See, I'm a wise person. I'm _not_ going to read into that. He was concussed."

"Con_cussed_?"

"He was in a car accident last week."

"Way to drop _that_ into the story so delicately," Charlotte snorted. "So, that's what your pinning this freak visit on. The fact that his brain basically did an obstacle course inside of his head."

"Yup."

"_Lizzy_."

"No, you know what? Will Darcy isn't really worth thinking about, Charlotte. I don't _care_ what his motives were. I moved on. And so should he."

Charlotte decided not to argue. She nodded tersely and watched as her friend sighed and got up from her seat. "Where are you off to?"

"Dad asked me to stop by the store," Lizzy shrugged. "Called around fifteen minutes ago."

"Hey, pick me up that new Dan Brown book. I'll pay you back. Ray loves them."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and laughed. "Well, if _Ray_ loves them."

Charlotte swatted at her and warned her to be nice. Lizzy pulled away, laughing, and left the cafe with a couple bills on the table.

It was rainy and miserable out. And Lizzy had forgotten her umbrella at home. She popped the collar of her jacket and decided to brave the few blocks. Waiting at a crosswalk, she stared off into the distance at a blur of cabs and tried to stop analyzing what happened last night. It was all in the past, and as far as she was concerned, it wouldn't have bothered her one bit if she never saw Will Darcy again. A woman beside her with a big, bright red umbrella offered to share with her for half a block, and Lizzy thanked her until she got to the broad, oak doors to Bennet Booksellers.

The entrance bell clanged and she stepped onto the 'Welcome' mat, wringing out her hair.

"Oh, _that's_ sanitary," teased the cashier, a young girl named Kate.

"I shampooed this morning," Lizzy argued with a grin. "Where's Dad?"

"In the back, as usual. Watch your step halfway through, we have a leak in the ceiling."

"Oh, lovely." Lizzy tossed her jacket onto the counter and sidestepped a gray bucket, drops of water _ping!_ing into it every half a minute. She shoved open the storage room door and froze, dead center in the doorway.

There was her father, leaning back in his creaking office chair with a mug of tea cradled to his chest. And there was _Will Darcy_, sitting on the edge of his desk, sleeves hiked up and in the middle of what had to be some hysterical tale because John Bennet was practically in tears.

"So the fishing line wrapped _around _it?" John slapped his knee. "I'm surprised you weren't thrown overboard."

"Oh, I was," Darcy laughed. "And then I bobbed up. _With _seaweed in my mouth."

"You're much more of a land boy, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I wrestle lions in my free time—in the Sahara Desert, it's pretty intense."

John snorted and whipped his head around, breaking into a broad grin when he noticed his daughter lingering. "_Lizzy!_ Don't sneak up on an old man. Look who dropped by."

"Lizzy," Will nodded. Something about his smile seemed smug.

She folded her arms skeptically. "Dad, do you mind if I steal Will away for a minute? I have to talk to him in private."

John waved his hand, "Might as well. I have some paperwork to fill out."

Darcy hopped off of the desk and followed Lizzy out into the abandoned Children's section. It was going through renovations and the smell of sawdust and paint was everywhere. Lizzy watched as Will looked around, as if trying to commit everything to memory. He practically jolted when she called his name. "What is this, you're _stalking _me now?"

Will looked amused and bit his lip. "I don't think I'm that skilled." When she glowered, Darcy laughed, "What? I always liked your father. John and I get along real well and I thought I'd stop by. This isn't about _you_."

"So, I'm supposed to stand here and believe it's all one big, convenient coincidence that you show up at my apartment last night after ten years of _nothing_, and now you're here being all buddy-buddy with my dad."

"That sounds about right."

"_Will_."

"Yes?"

She hated how easy-going he was. She hated that he wasn't broken down or prematurely balding. She hated that Will Darcy still looked like Will Darcy, only dressed a little better and had a more pronounced shit eating grin this time around.

Lizzy pinched the bridge of her nose. "What do you want?"

Will shoved his free hand into his pocket and looked off to the distance. His blue eyes flickered to hers. "Have dinner with me."

She stared at him like he had just sprouted two more heads.

"It's a meal, Lizzy."

"_Why_?"

"Let's catch up."

"Is this about Jane and Charlie?"

"…Sure."

Elizabeth raked a hand through her hair, frustrated. "Fine. _One _meal. Then you leave me alone, okay? It's getting creepy."

Will nodded seriously. But he was grinning.


	17. Effervescence

_She was an alcoholic artist  
With too much makeup 'round her eyes  
And I never knew her real name  
She was sunbeam wrapped in lies_

—"Song for Aberdeen" by Mando Diao

**Seventeen: **_Effervescence_

Elizabeth canceled on Darcy twice.

She also screened about nine of his finest phone calls. Truth be told, being a Bennet child had equipped Lizzy with the most efficient of survival skills—namely, the ability to grind out excuses and _sell_ them. And for three whole days, Will had ceased to bug her.

But he had learned, quickly and efficiently, to work through the family. One too many coffee convos with Jane and her father had since passed, chock full of _Oh, Lizzy, humor him and hear Will Darcy out_ and _The man's been smacked in the face with a cold hard epiphany_ and _For closure's sake, honey, the air deserves to be cleared_ and _I always liked Will, he smells nice_. There was only so much a girl could take.

"But what if every pent up emotion I've spent ten years carefully smothering comes rushing back in the middle of our entrées?"

Jane paused thoughtfully. "Then he prays to God you don't pour hot soup in his lap."

"Fair enough," Lizzy shrugged.

It was a humid Friday night when Will met Lizzy outside of her apartment. Butterflies had been rocketing inside of his stomach. No, not butterflies. Pinballs. He winced and handed her a bouquet of daisies with the arm that _wasn't_ broken, and Lizzy accepted them graciously. Then she stood there. It was like awkward seventh grade homecoming. Just without braces.

"Maybe I should go put these in a vase…" she suggested.

"Yeah, I guess it would be inconvenient to carry it around all evening," Will muttered, hunching his shoulders. "Didn't really think that one through."

"No, but it's a nice gesture," Lizzy said quickly. "I'll, uh…be right back."

"…Okay."

Three minutes of pacing and then Elizabeth reappeared on the stoop. She threw her keys inside of her purse and drew her cardigan tightly over her body, descending two steps at a time. Will noticed that she had taken the clip out of her hair, and he was suddenly hit with the memory of some lazy Sunday morning that had never happened where Lizzy had been reading the paper in bed, head cradled in his lap. Will would unsuccessfully braid strands of her hair and she would slap his hands away, laughing. A cup of cold coffee had been on the nightstand. She would be humming along to Dido on the clock radio.

Will shook his head.

"You all right?" asked Lizzy.

"I'm fine. Ready to go?"

* * *

Georgie Darcy was a little too old for teenage rebellion. But something about cranking up Lady Gaga appealed to her occasionally wicked nature. Okay fine, "Paparazzi" wasn't intellectually stimulating; but it was catchy and did a _damn _good job in reverberating through the walls and shaking crystal chandeliers. She counted half a minute before Aunt Catherine burst through the double French doors and punched her stereo off.

"_Georgiana_."

"Aunt Cathy."

Catherine de Bourgh removed her glasses with a wry chuckle. "Darling, I'm very sure that you exhausted these juvenile antics at _least _five years ago. What next, you're going to strap on the combat boots next and light up in my house? Does this look like an ABC Family sitcom to you?"

"No," Georgie leaned back and sighed, "I can't find John Stamos anywhere."

The smile quickly dissolved off of her face. "Remind me again when you're going back to school."

"Classes start the first of September."

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to live in a residence hall again."

"Ecstatic, actually." Georgie stared at her comforter.

Aunt Catherine cleared her throat, a whistling flimsy noise.

"I'll keep the music down."

"_Good_."

Georgie watched Cathy linger on the threshold, face taut with some sort of moral conflict. A heavy sigh, and then a white envelope dropped onto her bureau. "For you," said Cathy. "It came this afternoon, from your brother."

Her head snapped up. "_Will?_"

"Yes, because there are _so _many other siblings to choose from."

The doors shut behind her, and Catherine's heels were heard clacking down the marble hallway.

She leaped for the letter and tore it open, secretly deciding to be pissed off already. But the other half of her, the part that missed Will with every fiber of her being, implored Georgie to read what the great big idiot had to say. She fished her glasses out of her purse and sat up, sheet of paper unfolded in her lap:

_Hey kid,_

_I know your attention span can only take three sentences of anything _I_ have to say, tops. So for your sake, this will be brief: I've been a total shithead with even shittier priorities. I love and miss you very, very much. Please be in my life again. _

_PS: Yeah, that's an airplane ticket in there. Philly's not LA, but I need to see your face. You fly back on 7/11—I hope it's a lucky date and not just the name of a convenience store.  
_

_Love you,  
_

_Will_

_PPS: I forgot that the first 'PS' is supposed to go after signing. My bad.  
_

"Jackass," muttered Georgie, slipping the ticket out of the envelope. "Business class, not bad." A grin blossomed on her face. "Love you, too."

* * *

Lizzy Bennet was having a staggeringly hard time of trying not to laugh.

First off, Darcy was left handed. Having one's dominant hand tucked safely against the chest in a sling proved problematic in maneuvering through fine cuisine. She snorted and covered her eyes as Will bit his lip and tried to roll Penne a La Vodka around his fork. It slipped and he sighed, "I give up."

"You've been like this for a week; what have you been eating?" she asked.

"Smoothies and French fries, exclusively."

"Oh, nutritious."

"I thought so, yeah," Darcy laughed.

She shook her head and smirked, shoving her food around her plate.

"Hey, so thanks for returning all my phone calls."

Lizzy rolled her eyes, "_Hey_, you're welcome."

Darcy set his fork down and reached for a bread stick. Fair game. "So what did you say to the _boyfriend_?"

"Way to make it sound so ominous," Lizzy laughed. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and sat back, staring at her plate. "_Michael_, his name is Michael. And I told him I was meeting with an old friend from college."

"Sounds good."

"…Also, you're gay."

Will snorted into the glass of water he was drinking and set it down. He coughed, "_What?_"

"Oh, come on. It clears things up on the suspicion front. You want me to tell him that I'm meeting with an ex-boyfriend who spontaneously shows up at my door after ten years of _nada_?" Lizzy yanked out a bread stick aggressively. "Um, no. Don't think so. I'm not in the business of breaking hearts."

"So now I'm gay."

"Yep." Lizzy cocked her head and grinned, "I can be Grace and you can _still _be Will!"

"Cute."

Their waiter arrived to clear their dishes. Will played with the ends of the tablecloth absently. "So, you're moving in with him. Michael."

"Why do you say that?"

Will's eyes darted up quickly. "Um," he scratched the back of his head, "Jane visited me in the hospital."

Lizzy's face registered surprise. Then she started to laugh. "God, I _knew _it! Judas." The cell phone was already out.

"Please don't blast her via text, okay? She was nicer to me than I could ever deserve. She even brought me flowers."

"That's Janey, Will. She makes the rest of us mortals look like Stalin." Lizzy's shoulders slumped and she tucked the phone away, "_Fine_. What else did she tell you?"

"That you were moving in with him," Will said cryptically.

"Why would she tell you that?" muttered Lizzy. She looked about a minute away from being upset, and he couldn't really pinpoint why.

Darcy cleared his throat and looked down, "I can uh, help you move boxes and stuff. Laundry. Cleaning." At her doubtful expression, he laughed, "Don't judge, I'm kind of good at it now."

"Really?" grinned Lizzy. "Wow, who domesticated you?"

He cleared his throat, "Anyway. The offer still stands."

Lizzy mimed accepting an imaginary business card. "I'll consider it. Thank you."

"Welcome," Will murmured.

There was a lull in conversation before the trivial catching up started. How's the family? Sicknesses, marriages, reunions. Cousins and sisters and moving houses. Fran and John, Lydia and Mary. Georgie and Aunt Cathy. How's work? Companies. Business trips. Frequent flier miles. Hilton stays. Will glossed over his past; he wanted to hear about hers. And he did, wholly and completely, over coffee.

"I love it there," Lizzy shrugged, tracing a fingertip around her cup. "The hours are a little inflexible though because you have to work around the clients. But hopefully that changes soon."

"So you never became a teacher."

"A teacher?" she laughed. "There's an idea. Did I want to?"

"I don't know. I just always pictured you as an art teacher. Little kids in an elementary school."

"But I'm pretty crappy with kids," Lizzy wrinkled her nose. "I was never the A-type nurturer. My sister, yes. Me, not really."

"No," Will said slowly. "No, you would be…amazing, actually. You would be goofy but sweet, and the best part is that watching them grow and express themselves through art would kind of _change _you. Hit you personally, rock your life, make you weepy, change you."

Lizzy stared at him for a moment. She opened her mouth and tilted her head.

Will cleared his throat, "But yeah." He looked down quickly. "It's great that you love your job. Not that many people could say that today."

"Yeah," she mumbled, "I agree."

After a couple minutes, the bill was paid and chairs were pushed in. A tip was left. Will walked Lizzy home.

They were around the corner of her block when he said, "You seem really happy, Lizzy."

"Yeah," Lizzy smiled, "things are kind of working themselves out." She turned around and looked at Will. His face was yellow under the streetlamp. "What about you? You should really meet up with Georgie. There's no reason for a little argument to dent an entire relationship."

"I know. I hope she visits," Will mumbled, shoving his hand in his pocket. "I feel…really lonely lately. I know that makes me sound a little manic depressive. But I'm not even gonna lie." Lizzy gave him a sympathetic smile and he laughed, "But I love her and I miss her. If she even _considers _to stay here, I'll be a lucky man. We could take care of each other."

"I hope she stays," Lizzy laughed. "Georgie always was a great girl. Really warm and caring."

"She took after my mom."

"Maybe," Lizzy murmured, looking down at her shoes. "I always thought it was you."

They were standing at her stoop now. Lizzy looked down at him from one step higher. They looked at each other for what seemed to be a full minute. Then she paused, kissed his cheek and thanked him for dinner.

"Lizzy."

"Yeah?" she turned around.

Will looked off the side for a minute, clearly mulling over his next words. His jaw tensed up and he shrugged. "Do you ever think about what might have happened? Between us, I mean."

Lizzy smiled a little. "It was a really long time ago, Will."

"But did you?"

She looked at her wrist, "It's getting really late."

"Lizzy," Will repeated, foot on one step. She fidgeted.

"Of course I did," Lizzy murmured. "But it's not like you would have wanted me to wait for you. One year stretched into many more."

"I didn't know what I wanted. I was stupid."

She shrugged and stared down at her keys. "We both turned out fine, I think. Things work out the way they do for a reason, Will."

"I _hate _that," Will muttered. "It's so final, you know? Everything happens for a reason. It's like justifying your mistakes. Like saying that everything is out of your control."

Lizzy sighed, "What is it that you want, Will? A cure for your conscience? Because I'm fine. I really am. I'm happy." She turned around and punched in her security code. The door buzzed open. "Good night."

"But you weren't."

"What?"

She stood over the threshold, one arm pressed against the door. Darcy walked up the steps until he was right in front of her again.

Lizzy stared at him, trying to decipher his expression. Her hand covered her mouth. "Oh my _God_. That's why. That's what this is all about. You found out."

"Then it's true."

"_Will_—"

"Lizzy, what the fuck were you thinking?" Darcy demanded angrily, "How could you not have said anything?"

"It didn't work out, did it?" Lizzy shut her eyes. "So it doesn't even matter."

"I can't believe you. I never would have gotten on that plane."

"Well, you did," Lizzy murmured. She turned around and faced the door, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Jesus Christ. This is ridiculous."

"_Lizzy_." He steadied his hands on her shoulders and turned her around.

She shook her head and pushed him away. "Will, don't touch me. Just don't. I don't need this right now."

"I would have—"

"Please shut up," she squeezed her eyes shut. "Shut up, Will. It didn't work out."

"You don't even understand," he tried relentlessly. "I blew it. I know I did. I was immature and young and stupid and I didn't understand what was important," Will murmured. He brushed a hand across her cheek and Lizzy looked up, eyes bright and wet.

"Yeah?" she breathed. Her stare was cold.

"Look, I wish I could make you understand what I'm saying but I _can't_. You didn't see what I saw. Even if it was just some wild, trauma induced dream. Lizzy, I've _seen_—"

"No, Will, stop." She took a step back, hand on the door knob. "I won't let you do this."

"Do what?"

"Come back into my life and fuck _everything _up!"

Everything was suddenly very still and silent. And she couldn't take the look on his face. "Good night."

"…Good night."

The door slammed shut.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay. I had a hell of a winter break. Family squabbles and crazy shopping and Chinese Food Christmas and saying goodbye to the Tenth Doctor and getting calls from awesome Australian/Israeli people and saving the day in general. I hope your holiday was lovely. Happy (Belated) New Year! Cheerier chapters to come. …I think.


	18. These Trees Will Shake

**Eighteen:** _These Trees Will Shake  
_

Independence Day was supposed to be a blissfully humid, glorious slice of summertime. This year, not so much. Lizzy's annual (and usually half sober) dinner plans at Penn's Landing were dashed; instead, she scrubbed the bathtub, folded laundry, Sharpie'd moving boxes, and stuffed her cell phone between two sofa cushions.

Will Darcy spent the nation's anniversary watching fireworks explode off of his balcony, apathetic and piss drunk. The next three days passed in a stupor of beer cans and PS2. But eventually the idea of morphing into the male counterpart of Miss Havisham scared Darcy half to death and Operation: _Get-Your-Shit-Together_ kicked into full gear.

Work, like life, resumed, and colleagues were ever the support system.

"Glad you're back. Thought you _died_."

"Oh _hi_, Will! Like your hair. Is grunge back in?"

"File on my desk by _noon_, meeting at two."

It was all expected, and even familiar. But it wasn't comforting. And then a month flew by. And another. And _another_.

Charlie, of course, had heard it through the grapevine. "It" expressively meaning _everything_. He poked into Will's office on a slow Thursday evening with a carton of lo mein and a pair of chopsticks, perched himself on the desk and ate noisily. "Hey, hermit."

Darcy craned his head away from the computer monitor. "Hi, Charlie." He flicked a carrot sliver off of his keyboard, indifferent.

"You know," Bingley mused, "Jay just thinks you're a workaholic._ I_, on the other hand, know for a fact that you come home every night and consider shoving a wire hanger into an outlet."

Will looked up. "Didn't realize I was giving off suicide vibes."

"A-plenty, man. They're just a little subtle."

"That's kind of funny."

"Yeah, it is," laughed Charlie, "in a pitiful, self-deprecating way."

Will sighed and leaned back in the office chair, snatching a tennis ball from the top drawer. He chucked it up and caught it. "It's a slow week. My head's fuzzy. I'm not myself." He peeked inside the empty Chinese food container, frowned and tossed it into the waste basket.

Charlie smiled. "I count _three _excuses right there in your little rubber band ball of bullshit. You want to assume for a second that I'm _not _stupid and tell me what's really on your plate?"

A corner of Darcy's mouth turned up. He tossed him the ball. "If I told you," Darcy hesitated, "you would never believe me. You would chalk it up to me slamming my head on a dashboard. Then you would advise me to seek out a stronger prescription and move on."

"Yeah, funny how you think you're so _awesome _at reading people." Charlie lobbed the ball back with a sigh. "I'm not totally obtuse; I happen to have an _extremely _chatty girlfriend. I mean, she's adorable beyond words, sure, but none too private. This is about Elizabeth Bennet, and if you argue, I'm gonna hurl a stapler right at your forehead. _Wham_boom."

The tennis ball dropped, rolling underneath the desk. Darcy rubbed his eyes. "…I hate Jane."

Charlie grinned. "At least we communicate."

"Yeah. Understatement." Will looked up. "Thoughts?"

"Well," Bingley winced. "You got lucky; I've seen your pancaked BMW. And for the record, it's not unusual for a man to evaluate his life after a potential near-death experience. A guy like you _would _step back and look at all the mistakes in his life with a magnifying glass. It's pretty common." He paused, rolling up his sleeve neatly to the elbow. "And look, as far as fuck-ups go, it's to my recent knowledge that Elizabeth was the biggie, wasn't she?"

Darcy shook his head. "I still hate Jane."

"Listen," Charlie slid off of the desk, "life has a funny way of giving you what you want once you stop clawing after it."

"No. Not this time." Will hesitated, "Some days you just got to accept that _this _is the life you chose. This is where you let the chips fall, and what's done is done."

"Nothing wrong with a little hope, brother. How else would we pummel through the day?"

Will stared at him for a little while. After chewing on his words, Darcy said slowly: "What's totally unfair is that a lot of people in this office think you're a complete idiot, Charlie, and I'm the only one who gets to hear your Gandhi-isms. It's like a crime."

"…Thanks."

"No, seriously, it blows. You're like the human equivalent of Perry the Platypus."

Charlie's eyebrows shut up. "Who?"

"_Phineas and Ferb_."

"Didn't realize you've been watching Toon Disney during your recovery period. My bad." He laughed, "Is that in now?"

Darcy smirked and plucked the fuzz off of the tennis ball. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't plan to." Will suddenly chucked the ball and Charlie turned and caught it as a reflex. "Nice."

"I didn't mean it about Jane, by the way. I don't hate her. You _can't_ hate her. She's pretty much perfection." Will cocked his head, "And, to be honest, a little too good for you."

"Def totes. I know it."

"Just don't fuck things up with her. I'll hurt you."

Charlie's smile was slow and deliberate. "I'll hold you to that, sir."

* * *

Mary always made the best breakfast. Crepes, buttermilk pancakes, strawberry waffles à la mode. The culinary artistry didn't extend into lunch and dinner, which was a personality flaw she credited to lack of skill; her sisters chalked it up to lack of will. _And _spiteful laziness. Still, it was a brisk Sunday morning, late October, when four Bennet girls met across different parts of town and cramped themselves into Mary Alice Bennet's tiny (_tiny_) apartment for scrambled egg whites, grated parmesan and fresh fruit. There were no complaints._  
_

Jane was buttering a croissant, her face fixed in concentration. "Oh. Oh, _baby_. Get in me. I want you."

Lydia snorted from the chair beside her and cradled her cup of coffee. There was already a stack of polished dishes in the center of the table where omelets and melon slices used to be, and Mary reclined casually, satisfied. Their baby sister burped, unfazed. "Mary, drop out of art school and get your ass on _Top Chef_ or something. It's such a friggin' waste." Lydia put a hand on her stomach and grimaced. "I'm gonna get fat."

Lizzy rolled her eyes and Mary grinned, "Hey, it's nice to be good at _something_."

"True story, because you can't play the piano for shit."

"_Lydia_."

"Just saying."

Jane sat back in her seat and drummed her fingers on the tabletop. She grinned, and Elizabeth, Mary and Lydia glanced at her apprehensively, waiting for the emotional timebomb. And _ah_, bingo. "I'm _so _grateful we could get together like this, girls. Mom and Pop will be so happy. This is kind of adorable of us, considering we deny each other's existence for a handful of months every year."

Lizzy's eyebrows lifted over a glass of OJ. "Poignant, Janey."

"Yeah, well, you guys have to leave soon," muttered Mary. "My boyfriend's coming over in an hour. Terrence isn't so good with _family_."

"I think your boyfriend's in a cult," said Elizabeth.

"_No _Kool-Aid," Jane advised.

Mary rolled her eyes, clearing the stack of dishes. She opened the dishwasher and Jane got to her feet to help load it. Next to the sink, a tiny flatscreen was perched, tuned to CNN, where a muted news story was being covered. Lydia sighed and rested her head on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Isn't Anderson Cooper such a babe? Hey-ho, Silver Fox."

Lizzy smiled and kissed her forehead. "Easy on the age bracket, hon."

"You're right. Wolf Blitzer, beast man." They giggled.

A green Samsung suddenly started vibrating against the tabletop. Elizabeth jolted but Lydia snatched it faster with jungle cat reflexes. And _zap_, maturity left the kitchen.

"Give it back!"

"Relax, it's SPAM. Let's check your other messages. Oh ho _ho_, what's this?"

"_Lydia!_"

"Mailbox full, huh?"

"That's _mine_."

"Secret lover?"

"Asshole."

"_Ow!_"

The fact is that _everybody _can seem normal from the outside looking in. But through Elizabeth Bennet's obscured window, she had a hidden neurosis. This included screening Will Darcy's messages and voicemails and letting them gather dust and accumulate in her AT&T SIM card. It was sick and dashed with a little masochism, especially because her routine was fixed to a tee: Listen. Chuck Phone Across Room. _Repeat_. By the time Jane was wedged between them, Lizzy's face was suddenly red hot with shame and embarrassment.

Jane had yellow rubber gloves on, snug to the elbow, and a sopping wet dish in her left hand. "Five minutes, guys, _really_?"

Lydia scowled and brushed her bangs out of her face. "She yanked my _ponytail_. I'm officially in the third grade again."

Elizabeth glared, "You had no right doing that. It's _private_."

"Who is he?" grinned Lydia in spite. "Because Michael's initials sure as _hell _aren't WD."

"Leave me alone."

"He's pretty fuckin' persistent. How many messages, exactly?"

"_Lydia._"

"Hot."

She made the mistake of looking up at Jane, who had her lips pressed together firmly to block out a smile. "Oh, Lizzy. You're so silly." She peeled off her gloves and smirked, "Now I _know_ you're full of shit. Emotionally recovered, my ass."

"Um, I was gonna block his number, Jane."

"_Who?_" asked Lydia, exasperated.

"You're ridiculous. _Childish!_"

"Don't start this again." Lizzy raised her palm.

"Really, Lizzy? _Talk to the hand_? How nineties of you."

"God, who's side are you _on_, Jane?"

"_His_."

"_Whose?_" Lydia demanded.

Elizabeth fell silent, slumping back in her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest like a child, moody and sullen. "I made a decision, okay? I have a wonderful man in my life right now, who loves me, who _lives _with me. For God's sake, Jane, I can't throw it away by gambling on _what might have been_. It's complete and utter bullshit."

"Then why won't you delete his messages?"

Lizzy glared and punched in a button. "Delete, delete, delete. _Done_."

"Fine."

"_Fine_."

Then Jane rolled her eyes, hands perched high on her hips. "I swear, this is going to be a nightmare at the rehearsal dinner. Imagine the photo ops and death threats." She chuckled and shook her head, threading her fingers through her red hair. "Hey, but at least we'll have an entertaining Wedding Album; Charlie won't complain."

"…What?"

There was a lag of thirty seconds, sealed tight with pure uninterrupted peace. Mary peeked around the corner, glasses perched on the crown of her head. Lizzy's mug had dropped and was still rolling, slo-mo army style, towards the end of the table. Lydia looked disgusted. "Are you shitting me?"

Elizabeth took Jane's left hand and yanked her forward to expose her wrist beneath an oversized hoodie sleeve. A diamond, square cut in a silver Tiffany band, caught the light brilliantly. Almost _obnoxiously_. Lizzy's mouth fell open. "_Jane_. _Jane, Jane__, Jane_. You're gonna make me cry." She pulled her in for a hug, peppering her face with kisses. Jane laughed, eyes bright and glassy.

"Wow, Bingo sealed the deal."

"Oh, _Jane_!"

"_Congratulations!_"

"I'm picking my own bridesmaid dress."

Jane whirled around, finger raised. "No."

* * *

It would take Georgie a couple more months to grudgingly admit it, but transferring to Drexel U (_away _from Empress Catherine) had been the wisest, most refreshing idea in years. The urban setting was gorgeous this season, ripe with golds and oranges and reds, leaves littered on the asphalt and sidewalks of University City. Friendships were solid. Classes were tight. Rent was blessedly cheap. After all, what were a few dish duties and laundry cycles? It was com_pletely_ doable.

Well, except the vacuuming.

"I hate you, I hate you, I _hate _you," muttered Georgie, rising up from her knees. She rolled the Hoover under the sofa and straightened the red bandana that was keeping her dark curls up and out of her face. "Remind me again why _you _can't do this?"

Darcy smirked. He was standing in the foyer, correcting his tie in front of the giant, ornate mirror**—**a scary, 16th Century looking fixture, Carrie's decorating touch from forever ago."I'm lending Charlie a hand for his engagement party, remember? I've only invited you like, seventy five times."

"Oh, yeah." She paused and shifted her weight. "I have to study. Because Econ is slowly raping my soul."

"Good to know," Will murmured. He started fiddling with his tie and Georgie sighed and slipped it off impatiently, unknotting it. She wound it around his collar again, fingers moving nimbly. A corner of his mouth lifted, and Darcy laughed, "I'll never understand how girls kind of intrinsically know this shit. Is there a seminar you take when you're seven or something?"

Georgie snorted, amused. "_No_. My nanny taught me."

"Nanny?"

"Nanny Reynolds, Will. She lived with us for like, _five _years."

Will's brow crinkled. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and chewed on his lower lip. "Wait. _Vivian _Reynolds? The one who got arrested?"

Georgie's hands fell from his shoulders. "_What?_"

"Black hair? Cropped short?"

"Right."

"Yeah, she was booked. Possession with intent to sell." Darcy paused, "Which I kind of found hilarious at the time because I was eighteen and needed a more credible source for weed and she could have _totally _hooked me up." Will rubbed the back of his neck, remorseful.

Georgie looked as if she had swallowed a thumbtack. "Dad told me she moved to _Alaska_."

"_Yeah,_" Will winced, "he meant penitentiary."

"I feel like you just told me Santa Claus doesn't exist, all over again."

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Growing up is hard. I love you. Take care." Will took his wallet and cell phone from the end table, and unhooked his leather jacket from its place in the cedar closet. "Don't open the door to any strangers. Delivery boys, especially. Lock it up. Oh, and there's an Emergency Contact list on the fridge, right underneath the coupon for subs. It's got the Weinstein Dentistry magnet covering it."

"Thanks, Mom," grinned Georgie. "Hey, have fun seeing your dreaded ex-fiancée."

Will's face instantly fell.

"That…didn't occur to you, did it?"

"No."

"Sucks to be _you_."


	19. Two Step

**Author's Note****:** :) Epilogue next. And guess who officially turned legal as of February 1st? This girl! Sha_bang_.

* * *

**Nineteen:** _Two Step_

Saturday night was destined to be awkward.

Awkward exes.  
Awkward boyfriends.  
Awkward engaged couples.  
Awkward tipsy mother.

Wait.

Lizzy stared at Fran Bennet across the courtyard. Three flutes of bliss induced champagne and the giddy mother was practically throwing herself on her future in-law.

"Oh, Marie, just think, our _children_ together!"

Marie Bingley's smile was nervous. "Quite amazing, yes. Jane is a wonderful girl. _Oh!_" Fran had pulled her in for an uncomfortable hug, catching Charlie's mother by surprise.

"You smell so good. Chanel No. 5? Vintage, I _love_ that," Fran winked, tipping her glass.

Marie cleared her throat, "Thank you." She smoothed the hem of her blouse and looked around.

John Bennet, ever the silent lurker, appeared at Lizzy's side as she shook with laughter. He murmured into her ear, "I think your mother's flirting."

"Yeah," grinned Lizzy, "I think it's a certifiable girl crush. Poor Mrs. Bingley."

"She may not come home tonight." John removed his glasses and polished a lens with his shirt cuff, glancing around. "Where's your boy? Ran off already?"

"Nah. He's talking to Charlie about writing music," Lizzy leaned against the rail of the deck. "Apparently Bingley Sr. used to be a music teacher. Did you know that?"

"Please. Nobody keeps me in the loop anymore," John muttered. "You could say the man's the ambassador of Sweden and I wouldn't be able to argue. By the way," he elbowed his daughter lightly, "there's your guy now."

She looked up. Michael was making his way across the courtyard, happy and at ease, when Fran suddenly kissed him stoutly on the cheek. He jolted back in shock. Lizzy started giggling.

"A new man. That's my cue," said John. He left her with a kiss on the forehead and Lizzy smiled after him. Michael showed up a minute later.

"Did you see that?" he asked incredulously, raking a hand through his hair.

"Sorry," Lizzy grinned, "my mom's attracted to everybody tonight."

"Everybody, huh?" Michael laughed, leaning against the rail.

"Yep," she straightened his shirt collar, "but especially cute scruffy musicians with big brown eyes. Just saying."

Michael smiled and pulled her close. "You're kind of cute yourself. Let me guess. Borrowed a dress from Jane?"

Lizzy frowned and looked down. She had filched a pretty belted green dress from her sister's closet and paired it with her own black slouchy boots and a leather jacket. "_No_."

"Come on," Michael smirked, "you only own jeans and obscene t-shirts. And college sweatshirts." He had been playing with a strand of her hair and suddenly lurched back, "Don't hit me."

"No promises, Kent."

Michael smiled and looked out across the lawn. Lizzy cocked her head, looking out too. She had spent an entire afternoon with Jane and Charlie, stringing multicolored outdoor lights across the patio. The warm light brought out the hues of all the scattered leaves around them. It was pretty. Glasses of wine and old school Ella Fitzgerald complimented the atmosphere.

The Bennet house didn't really look like the Bennet house. But this was probably a good thing. It could almost pass for posh, if you squinted just right.

Lizzy spotted Jane leaning out across the glass sliding door that separated the deck and the kitchen. Charlie was on the opposite end of the threshold, an apron tied around his waist. He was holding a tower of paper cups and Jane took one and perched it on top of his head. She snorted and Charlie kissed the corner of her mouth.

Lizzy smiled. Her hand was in Michael's, and she didn't remember when he had reached out.

"I uh," he looked down for a second, "I have something kind of important to talk to you about tonight."

"Yeah?" Lizzy smiled. "Let's just not argue about Batman villains again. Because Poison Ivy is a total ho and you really can't say anything."

"No, not that, Lizzy," laughed Michael. "Think bigger."

She bit her lip. "Spiderman villains?"

"Nope." A pause. "It's something I want to ask you."

His eyes were suddenly on hers. Lizzy pressed her lips together.

"Not now though," Michael promised. He kissed her hand before he let it drop to her side. "Don't run off." He smiled. "Love you."

"I—"

"I'll be back."

Michael left her at the patio, and she watched him disappear back inside the house. Lizzy closed her eyes and sighed, leaning her forehead into her hands. She suddenly felt light headed.

Someone close by cleared their throat; Elizabeth grudgingly looked up.

A svelte woman with perfectly coifed blonde ringlets was sipping a glass of merlot by the steps. Lizzy peered over the railing, watching her. "Are you Carrie?"

The woman looked up. Definitely Caroline Bingley. She looked like someone out of a _Vanity Fair_ photo shoot. Even her clothes were exquisite. "Who are you?"

Lizzy extended a hand, "Elizabeth Bennet. We're gonna be in-laws."

"_Awesome_," Carrie said dryly. They shook hands, and the woman seemed to soften a little. "Jane's a sweet girl."

"Yeah, she is." Lizzy smirked. She sat down next to her, folding one leg under the other. "Having a nice time?"

"I think so. The wine selection is pretty good and any minute now I'm going to run into my ex-fiancé and have the satisfaction of making him wish he were dead," Carrie said calmly. "It's a promising evening."

"Oh, sweet. Sounds like a fun time."

"Sure is."

Vaguely, Lizzy wondered if she was drunk.

Caroline turned her head, scarlet lips stretching into a sinister smile. "And _there's_ the fucker now."

Lizzy followed her stare, ready for some mild amusement. And sure enough, right across the patio stood Will Darcy, pushing a gift-wrapped box into Charlie's hands. He kissed Jane on the cheek and she smiled and Lizzy cringed. "Shit motherfucker shit damn."

Caroline glanced over. "Uh."

"I have to pee. Bye."

Lizzy scrambled to her feet and ditched Carrie in an instant.

"Bi_atch_."

* * *

With Georgie's expertly tailored advice in hand, Will had strategically arrived at the engagement party _after_ the awkward dinner and clinking of glasses and raising of clichéd toasts. Which had kind of worked out perfectly, because Charlie had called two hours earlier to let him know they didn't need any extra help due to the "All hands on deck" mentality the Bennets seemed to employ. They were a little like elves that way, only a slightly more violent and prone to alcohol abuse.

Mingling, on the other hand, Will Darcy could successfully avoid. After all, he had practically turned creeping into an art form. So Will gave the newly engaged his best wishes, took a rain check for a game of pool, snatched a beer and roamed the property, being careful to duck at every sighting of snarling Carrie Bingley.

Hydrangea bushes were handy like that.

Darcy was on his way inside the Bennet house when he ran into John. He stopped dead in his tracks with a whimsical look on his face.

"Will Darcy. Boy, don't tell me. You're gonna be the best man."

"I should be so lucky," Darcy smiled. "How have you been, John?"

"I'm liking these coincidences, that's for sure," the elder Bennet smiled wryly. "The house look any different?"

"I'll let you know."

"Let me know if you find Lizzy too."

Will looked up, surprised. "Jane told me she wouldn't be here."

"The nice ones are all liars," John clapped him on the shoulder. "See ya."

Darcy scratched his head and entered the house through a side door that led to the basement. He wiped his shoes on the mat and flicked on the light. Cedar closets. Lizzy's mother was paranoid about moths eating her expensive winter coats. Darcy grinned.

The basement led upstairs to the kitchen, which led to the dining room with the same semi-bent chandelier Mary had ruined with a tennis ball the same summer he met the Bennet sisters. Then around the corner to the corridor, down to John's den still completely cramped with books. As if his store couldn't contain them all.

Family portraits hung all along the wall next to the staircase, and Darcy lingered on his way upstairs. He smiled at a picture of Jane and Lizzy as little kids. It was on a camping trip. Jane was doubled over in giggles, red hair splayed out across her sleeping bag like a fan. Lizzy stood over her with her scrawny little arms flexed, grinning. She had paint smudged all over her tan face. Will laughed under his breath.

And then Darcy was standing in the hallway. Suddenly, he didn't want to open any doors. He looked down with a knot in his throat and turned around.

Michael Kent stood on the top step, peering up at him skeptically. His hand was still on the railing. "Hey. You're…"

"Yeah," Will cleared his throat. "We've met."

"…the friend from college."

"Thanks," Darcy laughed.

Michael smiled, "Sorry. I'm not so good with names. Bill?"

"Close enough. Lost your girlfriend?"

"Something like that," snorted Michael. He scratched his head, looking around. "Have you seen Lizzy?"

"Not up here, no," Will clicked his tongue apologetically. "But hey, she might be in the basement. She always liked looking at old family photo albums down there. That room's like a time capsule."

Michael smiled. "I'll go check. Thanks, man."

"Anytime."

He disappeared; footsteps were heard descending the steps, probably two at a time. Darcy exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Turning round, he ignored the accelerated heartbeat, turned the knob of Lizzy's door and pushed it open. _Empty_.

Will stepped back with a laugh. "How anticlimactic. What are you _doing_."

He headed for the stairs but paused a second later, deciding to give Jane's room a halfhearted shot. It was open a crack, and he pushed it open with his shoe.

Lizzy sat on Jane's bed, an open photo album in her lap. She looked up, meeting his eye across the door. There was a long, static, _extremely_ uncomfortable pause.

"So, I met your ex-fiancée."

Darcy's eyebrows lifted. "Oh."

"Thanks for conveniently forgetting to mention you were engaged to Posh Spice."

"Welcome." Will took a moment. "Does that make me Beckham?"

Lizzy paused. "No. Not at all."

The mattress creaked under his weight when Will took a seat beside her, back arched against the wall. They were a comfortable distance apart, so Lizzy thought it best to complain, mid page turn, "Why are you back in my life again?"

"Well," Darcy thought, glancing at the album, "if you take away my freakish persistence, it's mostly because of Jane and Charlie."

"Bastards," sighed Lizzy. She turned to look at his face.

"You look pretty."

"Don't go there."

"'Kay."

Darcy loosened his tie and chucked it off. He rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up and unlaced his shoes.

Lizzy raised an eyebrow, "What are you doing?"

"I hate ties," he complained.

"And long sleeves and shiny shoes?"

"Yep."

Lizzy snorted. She leaned her head back towards the wall, green eyes sliding closed. Will watched her and said quietly, "Michael's looking for you."

Her eyes opened. "I know. He's going to propose to me."

Darcy hesitated. "Tonight?"

"Uh-huh."

"Slick. You sure about that?"

"Mike's a pretty easy-to-read guy."

"And a good guy."

"Yeah." Elizabeth took in a deep breath and let it out. She pressed her palms flat against her forehead. "That too."

Will's head thunked back against the wall. He stared ahead at the dresser, impeccably organized. Old perfume bottles were shoved in a corner by the window, and it took him about a minute to realize she had set it up as a composition awhile ago. The light in Jane's room was usually ideal.

"Your house still smells the same," he said.

"I didn't realize it had a smell."

"It does." A corner of his mouth pulled up. "It's a little like potpourri, cat dander and maybe old cigars."

"We never had a cat," Lizzy grinned.

"Yeah. That's what makes it weird."

Elizabeth turned her head, watching him. She chewed on her lower lip. "This is how it's gonna be, huh? Awkward, forced friendship on account of siblings and besties. Seal up the past."

Darcy's smile was genuine. "Yeah, but it's not so bad. I'll take what I can get."

Lizzy clicked her tongue. "Guess so. We have to make sacrifices for the ones we love." She paused, "By the way, thanks for clogging up my voicemail."

"You're welcome." Darcy took a swig from his bottle. "And will you be accepting Michael Kent's proposal tonight?"

He felt Lizzy's stare, hot on his face. "I don't think that's any of your business." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"It's okay," Will shrugged, nonchalant. "You could just say you don't love him and you're still contemplating whether you have feelings for me. I mean, then at least we'd be _honest_ assholes as opposed to just assholes."

"I almost forgot you were so arrogant." Lizzy slid the bottle out of his hands and took a sip. She burped.

"Ku_dos_."

"Do you remember the last time we were in this room?"

"I remember the last time we were in this _bed_." Will faltered, "Does that count?"

Lizzy smiled. She smoothed his hair back, leaned close and pressed a light kiss against his cheek. Then she got to her feet and smoothed the skirt of her dress out over her knees. Darcy watched her in silence. She tilted her head. "Bye, Will."

"Lizzy."

She turned around and sighed, brushing her dark hair out of her face.

"I have this theory," Will sat up. "And it's that you could say yes to Michael Kent and marry him in some beautiful, quaint white backyard wedding. Your mom would be sniffling and your dad would be _really_ excited about open bar, and you two would honeymoon somewhere _awesome_, like Vienna. Michael would treat you well and you would probably have adorable kids." He looked down, plucking at an undone shoelace. "And yeah, after awhile, _I_ would pull myself together and move on, too. Things would mend and pull forward because that's life and I have a feeling we both would be fine in the long haul."

Lizzy watched him thoughtfully with a sad smile on her face.

"_But_," Darcy's voice caught, "let's be honest, nothing would match up to this overblown, gut-wrenching _dream_ life mapped out in my head. It was, God, probably a product of guilt and head trauma, at best. But when it was _gone_, I felt like a part of me had died, because it was a wonderful life, Lizzy, it was. Not perfect in any way, full of _problems_ and arguments and a messy half IKEA half Kindergarten madhouse. And two kids. _Beautiful_, hilarious, heart-breaking, Lego-and-apple-juice-obsessed kids with your eyes and _way_ too much energy for 7AM in the morning, by the way."

Elizabeth leaned against the doorframe. Her fingers drummed against her mouth, fixated.

Darcy looked up. "It never happened, but I still miss waking up next to you every morning. I miss the idea of potential burnt omelets and trips to the Philadelphia Zoo in the middle of July. And the smell of your studio, wood and acrylics and fixative. And glow in the dark stars and long car rides completely _filled_ with bathroom stops. I miss being in love with you. I miss how you made me feel. I miss an _entire_ life that could have happened if it were only given a chance. And it's stupid and reckless to even _think_ about it a decade later."

Lizzy's head was bent. Her brows were knit together.

Darcy hadn't remembered when he had got to his feet. Or when he had crossed the distance. Or when Lizzy had let him brush his hand across her cheek. "Stupid and reckless," Lizzy repeated, green eyes quizzical.

"_Yeah_." Will took a long pause, "But the thing is, I'm _already_ pretty stupid and reckless. So, maybe I have nothing to lose here."

Lizzy tilted her face up to Will's, letting her fingers graze over his forehead where he had hit the dashboard months ago. Her smile wavered, "Took quite a spill, huh?"

Darcy laughed, but it was more like a sharp exhalation. His stomach clenched with nerves. Elizabeth leaned close and pressed her cheek against his. He closed his eyes against the warmth of her skin, her hands cupped in his.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," Will whispered.

Lizzy's smile spread, slow and bright. "There's a start."


	20. Epilogosaurus

**Author's Note****: **Normally, I put my final words at the _end_ of the chapter, but I feel like it would ruin the mood and wonderment for this epilogue. But what can I say? You guys are beyond wonderful. Thank you so much for all your kind, sweet words and support. It's been such a fun ride and I enjoyed sharing it with you. :) Those who know me know that I like to close out with one scene, and this is no exception. I hope it's enjoyed and I hope it leaves you with the same, warm-gooey-molasses-in-the-pit-of-your-stomach feeling as I got.

Love you all!  
Ari

* * *

**You, Me and the Bourgeoisie**  
_Epilogue_

Two Years, Four Months, Three Days

"Lady."

Elizabeth Bennet glanced up in surprise. The cashier had an antsy smile on his face; his eyes darted from behind thick frames, hand outstretched and waiting.

"Oh."

She slipped a couple of bills out and pushed them across the counter. "Thanks." Daydreaming was a little counterproductive now. Especially at Starbucks, with a full line of texting teens and agenda pushing business associates cluttered behind you.

So she hop, skipped and shuffled over to Pick-Up, where she pocketed an iTunes Song of the Week card and straightened the strap of her Marc Jacobs bag. Or Jane's. "_Mine_ now," Lizzy murmured with a smile. A barista filled her cup with foam.

_Lady_. Elizabeth didn't feel like a lady today. Her hair was wild with curls, bangs poking out from under a beanie with an animal face printed on it. Her scarf had punchy colors. Her jeans were tucked into bright yellow rain boots. She hadn't even bothered much with makeup that Saturday morning; her cheeks were flushed pink, but only from the cold.

Woman Child. That was the affectionate term endured. She looked out the window where remnants of the weekend's snowstorm still coated the sidewalk. Lizzy craned her neck. She only saw his back, what with the bench pressed up against the windows. Saw the green Eagles beanie and his black boots, caked with snow. _I wonder if he's cold._

"Elizabeth?"

Lizzy turned. "Grace."

Grace Parker smiled and both women did an awkward half hug, half cheek peck. "Haven't seen you in _ages_."

"Yeah, really," laughed Lizzy. She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear, uncomfortable. "How have you been?"

"Signed on." Grace's smile spread slowly. "Red Punch Label."

"I'mma _hug_ you."

Grace giggled, embraced, and pulled back from the bear hug. She was a gorgeous girl. Willowy and lovely and kind. Always an eye-catcher at _every_ one of Michael's gigs; faces had a natural habit of turning once she wrapped her fingers around a microphone. Michael used to tease and call her Philadelphia's own Corinne Bailey Rae. "We're moving to New York." Well, New York's own.

"Manhattan." Lizzy's smile was genuine. "How is he? I mean, I think it's been a year. At least. I haven't seen him around." She pressed her lips together, well on the verge of babbling.

"_Really_ good." Grace looked down and fiddled with the snaps of her coat, trying to conceal the blush that warmed her face. "Don't get me wrong, it was difficult at first. Seeing as you totally _ruined_ him."

Elizabeth's mouth fell open. Grace winked and Lizzy simpered, "_Hey_, not funny yet. That boy made me hate myself for a good three months."

"Oh honey, we _know_." At Lizzy's Bambi stare, Grace touched her arm, "For the record, we're pretty serious now. And _you_ introduced us."

The barista interrupted her reverie. "Two Decaf Tall Cappuccinos. Miss?" Elizabeth swiveled on the heels of her boots and picked up the cardboard carrier. Grace watched her.

Lizzy's smile was apologetic. "Look, as long as he doesn't think of me as some über bitch who stomped on his heart. Then life would be okay."

"Girl, don't worry. He's over you."

"_Good_." Lizzy cocked her head. "You two look adorable together. Better than we ever did."

"I know. Let's be honest." Grace grinned, reaching over her shoulder for a Caramel Macchiato. "See you around, beautiful. I'm loving the boots, by the way."

"Thanks," Lizzy grinned. "Grace, take care."

She turned and rested one arm against the handle of the glass door. A corner of her mouth quirked up. And just when she thought the mortification had been swept under the carpet. _It resurfaces at a corner Starbucks_. Elizabeth winced.

Michael Kent's face, for the record, was still pretty much imprinted in her head much like it had been the day Lizzy had come clean. All wounded dark eyes, slack jaw, blazing _hurt_. It sucked. A potential future life, suddenly crumpled into a ball and pivoted at a waste basket like last week's grocery list.

What _also_ sucked was having to pick up the splintered pieces of Michael's ruined guitar in the dining room. Hello, unexpected (but incredibly deserved) temper flare.

Elizabeth had run into Michael a year later at 30th Street Station, huddled in a line and clasping a ticket for a business trip in Washington DC. He was headed for Penn, a couple stops short of Union, and they agreed to coffee in the café cart, in all its watered down goodness.

"_I never meant to hurt you."_

"_I know."_

"_Michael, you're too good of a man."_

"_I know that, too."_

"_I did love you."_

"_Yeah." _A flicker of a smile, a sip of coffee. _"You just loved him longer."_

Lizzy sighed, feeling lighter on the exhalation. Yoga breath. She pushed the door open and a gust of frosty air nipped her nose and ears. Then she squinted against the sunlight and sat down beside Beanie Man.

Will Darcy took his cup from her and let it warm his hands, a copy of _The Inquirer _unfolded in his lap. "Thanks. Did you get held up in there?"

"Ran into a friend." Elizabeth crossed her legs and propped them over Will's lap. From where Lizzy sat, she had full view of his profile. The tension in his jaw and creased brow, the bright blue eyes squinted in concentration. "_Tch_," she grinned. "Look at that intensity."

"I take the paper seriously." Will glanced up. "I'm an old man." He flicked a feather off of her boot. "Nice boots, Barney."

"Thanks, dude. Picked them out myself."

Darcy smiled, leaned over, and kissed her. It was slow and affectionate and she smiled against his mouth. Then she pulled away, laughing. "You're so _cold_," she cupped his chin with a gloved hand. "I know you're an advocate of fresh air and all, but maybe we should get a table inside."

"Nope," Will popped the word on his lips. "Unless you're cold."

"I'm good now," Lizzy said. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of his leather jacket. Will murmured against her hair and she smiled. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"Next snowstorm, can we pay the kid next door with the snow blower to clean out our driveway?"

Darcy arched an eyebrow. "I'm perfectly capable of shoveling the driveway without forking over $70 to some kid who takes like, _two hours_ and does a shitty job anyway."

"Ty does a _great_ job."

"Does not." A beat. "_Charlie_ shovels his own driveway."

"God, you have such a man complex. Next, you're going to be peeing on everything." Lizzy cocked her head. "If that's the case, no asparagus for dinner anymore."

"_Real_ mature," Will ruffled her hair.

"I know," Elizabeth let out a long, winded sigh. "When will she _ever_ grow up?" Darcy smirked and took a sip of his coffee. Lizzy tilted her head, watching him. "You can have my cup, too," she murmured.

"How come?" Will looked over.

"I'm off caffeine for a little while."

At his _I don't need elaboration_ shrug, Lizzy took his hand in hers and slowly unbuttoned her coat. Darcy arched an eyebrow, suddenly all attention. "What are you doing?" he laughed.

Lizzy held his hand gently at her lower abdomen, slipped under her cashmere sweater and pressed against her warm skin. Green eyes flickered up, and her mouth stretched into a big smile.

Will's eyebrows were still furrowed, as if at a total loss. He looked up, and then back down, drew his hand away and placed it back, as if solving some Sesame Street puzzle. Darcy locked eyes with hers. "You're not…"

"Yeah."

"Pregnant."

"Yeah."

"Holy fuck."

She was completely engulfed in his arms, Will kissing every inch of her face. Lizzy giggled, ducking her head against the folds of his jacket. "I surrender! Jesus."

"Are you _sure_?" he breathed.

"Six EPTs later? Yeah, little bit."

"But we used…"

"Yeah, _something_ broke, hon."

"That's…an absolutely awesome fail. Come here."

"Ow."

"I love you so much."

"I love you, too!"

The bell to the entrance of Starbucks jangled and somebody poked their head out. "Uh, _hey_. 'Scuse me. Don't mean to interrupt the lovefest."

Elizabeth craned her neck over her shoulder, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The barista from before was holding her wallet. Lizzy gaped, "Oh, I'm such an _idiot_. Thank you so much." It was tossed into her purse. "_So_ absentminded."

The girl smiled and twirled her hair, fixated on Will; he seemed frozen, too.

"I—" his laugh was short, blue eyes impossibly wide. "You…"

Lizzy's eyebrows lifted.

"Do I know you?" the barista asked, drying her hands on her apron.

Will looked down at his wife. He suddenly smiled. "No," he said softly. "No, you definitely don't."

The girl shrugged, passive.

Elizabeth said, "Thanks, again," she paused to read her nameplate. "Amy."

"Yep," she beamed, her grin impossibly bright. "Ya'll have a nice morning."

The door closed and sealed the heat in the café. The girl smoothed her long blonde braid over one shoulder, watching the couple on the bench. Her lips pulled into a secretive smile. "Cute," she cooed.

"Hey!"

"_What?_" the girl hollered over her shoulder, where the cashier was punching in an order. He glared at her, arms pressed up against the counter, "Amy wants her nameplate back."

The redhead next to him slapped a lid onto a cup. "Yeah, stop stealing identities, Julie. Must you always interfere?"

The girl looked back out the window, where snow was beginning to fall again, slow and windswept. She smiled.

"Always."

**Fin**  
~*~*~


End file.
